Transcendental Blues

When I shut my eyes I see two sunny white starburst shapes against a black background. When I'm in the shower, when I'm in bed in the dark.

I'm obsessed with sex but I hate talking about it. I don't wanna just re-enact porn, I wanna fuck your soul!!!baby!!!!

waves of prescriptions, each one fucking me up even more in a brand new way.

I look at all the people around me, all the shit around me that frustrates me and I realize... I'm past it. I've truly matured past it. There's no point in even being pissed about it or them because I've
Fucking TRANSCENDED that shit. Literally I've learned and studied shit and I've experienced shit and I'm just passed it. There is no more grappling with it, fighting it, hating it, throwing words at it. I feel like I've conquered it although I haven't changed it. I'm past it! Beyond it!! Better than it? I care too little for that to matter

Some people regard writing as less "natural" or emotional than other forms of art but guess what? Fuck those people. Words are almost as emotional as music and MORE emotional than visual arts which do nothing but perhaps ignite superficial aesthetic pleasure sensors (with the rare exception). But words!! Either reading words which perfectly explain something you never thought could be, or just hearing words that sound nice together. It's emotional as fuck!!!