time structure

We want to graze in the green pastures and ponder the meaning of life. In so doing, we can set ourselves up for a plethora of issues ranging from the real and distinctly uncomfortable to the unreal; which can be the most unusual and horrific experience we could have. The in between stuff is just window dressing for the viewing pleasure of other people.
Actors we all are, falling away from ourselves deep inside the meandering flux of social life with all its discrepancies and falsities. We lose ourselves in our roles; if we are active. If we are not active we have shut down the process so our age can come quicker. Then we can buy the crap they say we need. This cycle is hard on us. It makes good and decent people feel insignificant inside. If only people knew that there are many who feel the same way once those hard layers of socialness get peeled away; with those deep and dark feelings that form the base of our huge towers of structured time being the last to go.
We should graze in the green pastures. We should ponder the big questions. If for nothing else than to take time away from our daily constraints and binding thoughts of reciprocation. We should never deny the way our feelings present themselves. There is value after all in how dreams and perceptions formulate.

movement

I once allowed myself to be taken in by the desirous ones who believed more in their way than any other. I recently heard a conversation between a group of 7 women who were talking about ways of keeping an eye on their men; and they were laughing about it. They viewed their men as pieces of property who are employable and trainable. I looked and listen to this shit and confirmed my suspicions about the real reason behind landing a fish. It was to train him, own him, and make him jump through flaming hoops so that he may one day see the errors in his ways and take heed to the noticable improvements in himself since he met the one who was talking at that particular stretch in time; while the other 6 ladies were doing the same fucking thing. Finally, after about 30 seconds of listening to all these lies and posturing bullshit, I had to inject some semen into the conversation. 2 nobody's surprize, they gave me only a single glance as if I were nothing more than a man who needed fixing. I am a firm believer that women want to fix that which is broken, but the long-term ways will never suffice and that which is perceived to be broken may in actuality be fully functional within the context of reason. I saw no real reasoning in these 7 women, I saw anxiousness mixed with fear. I saw pain mixed in with those subtle smiles. I saw frustration peeping through the cracks in their communication; not by their constant chitter-chatter, but through their movements and eyes.

they think maybe

My time there was distinctive. There was a feeling there that opened passage-ways, ways that allowed views of the wandering ones who remain exiled for their spiritedness. They were like children playing crude games. Because it was all inside, nobody could understand. I could not talk about it. I could not bring anything up in regular conversations with trusted friends. It had to remain mine. What occured on that property will never leave me. The things I saw were terrifying yet somehow I feel better knowing that my experiences in that place, at that place, among those exiled souls, allowed me to see clear distinctions between those who are believers in something and those who just think they are.