Time Ripens

Skipping in and out of realities, things start to blur more. Am I 


really dreaming when I’m awake? It never really stops, an 


improvisation of the best kind. But in my mind I can’t see what 


really happens. It’s just a hint of what might happen. So I wait 


until the time ripens. 


The hints are eloquent. The heaviness is in the way their eyes 


seem, when they don’t realize you’re watching. But no one stops 


to stare in these modern day times. The wind sways in many 


ways, pushing you moderately. Clear and present, the energies 


duplicate when you can relate.  


I thought I’ve watched this all before, a déjà vu. Faint is how I 


remember it as. But I couldn’t place my finger on it. Like everything 


that feels vaguely familiar. We’re catching up to the different vibes, 


finally, completing stories, and starting new ones. Its never ending,

 
but I never remember fully, purposely.


But the way I want to feel is never for a second. But all I want to
 do 

is indulge in every moment. But I can’t. Not yet, it’s too early to 
live 

multiple lives. I've got to wait until time ripens.

I AM

My mind rising into higher frequencies; I’m understanding the
worth.

The paper chase is JUST a human race. Ego-induced. Tainted
perceptions.

Stuck in different mindsets while my actions are so free. No mindsets,
timeless.

I always notice the different versions, and there are those few categories
you can identify. But within those categories are many more sub genres
of perceptions. They are all hidden, in deep sleep. What is awake are the
few that dominate reality and spiral the earth. Dominance is the game.

I find myself in between it all, like a third-party observer. The story has
its mishaps but always lead to something. That something brings the
opportunity to change associations, to awaken those categories. To not
be lost in it, I think, is almost impossible, so I can I blame you? I’ll blame
you for playing it too safe.

Living is without restriction, a truly rebellious act. The actions are
untamed and aligned with nothing that already exists. The reactions are
different, like something you’ve never anticipated. The boxes are many,
stacked up neatly next to each other. My box is open.  

Projections

My skin and your skin. Alike.

To watch and to see are different things but I recognized neither. 

But the glances I catch, the analyzations that are trying to be made. 

I notice the mind calculating the things being perceived. But nothing 

could be calculated. The logic behind it all spiralled because the 

instinct couldn’t be measured. The intensity was watched, the 

complications understood. 

And everything was still; it was happening.

And in my mind, I let it pass thinking it was nothing. But it spanned 

out all over the place and in patterns. An estimated route it took, and 

I hit every move before it came. I some how knew but didn’t realize 

that I did. The reasons were there deductively and I was just connecting 

the dots. Being in the forefront was horrible but I couldn’t help but to 

indulge.

Unified, it occupied my mind. My every instant reflected this. Worlds 

submerge to accommodate what I perceive. I understood your actions, 

and I made my reactions. 

I’m just the projector and the rest is a projection.