we are little different from the rats or the moths…

I listen to people beyond what they say,

My senses find little distance between the vivid dream journey,

and counterpart in the wakefulness…

I read avidly of those who have led lives beastly and real and written of it…and with always a cynical but still innocent yearning for Goodness,

and find only more of the same human manufactured banality and cruelty when I leave the pages and look at the speaking shapes around me.

Which is not to suggest I am above,

for I am below…

I exist primally,

of my senses,

of my instincts,

of my dreams as much as my eyes wide open scurrying,

neither has more reality or value.

POS is wicked…he spits nothing but honesty, demands nothing but to meet his wild spirit howling in the woods on the night of the fullest of moons.

I find the ones with the heartbeat…

Easy to relate to the same cause,

which is the only cause which matters to those who….

find no need for Freud to understand their dreams.

and wish more than those deemed as criminals and nutjobs,

revealed and bounced off,

my tribe.

finding an echo of my essence in their essence….

Im a monster.

For we are little different from the rats,

or the moths,

probably on the whole we are less than them,

for they are honest and cannot help but move with the tides of the wilderness both on and off this planet.

they have less time to consider lying.

living only in the Now, with the past of value only to learn of dangers to avoid in the thereafter.

Other than which,

they run naked, wild and free…with their everything.

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