12.3.11

Ordinary Sunday

Often I think we don't know anything about ourselves.
We are truly -in many ways-
Odd faceted entities of ourselves.
Estranged neighbours,
And past roommates.

One part of me
Is living across the hall from the other part,
And all the others.
And we're all a little lost
As to what's going on,
On the whole.
We just leave notes on the mirrors
And cabinets that hypothesize
Where we're all at.

It sounds a little psychotic,
I'm realizing,
But it isn't.
People
Are all so multi-faceted.
We possess separate entities,
So why not accept that?

We've got no idea
About anything,
I think.
Often it's all blind guessing.
Making mistakes.
And fixing them.

Bringing some sort of tenuous cohesion.

Right now,
All of my pieces aren't cooperating,
I feel like a broken jigsaw puzzle,
All shaken up and tossed onto the table.

And all the pieces are slowly and painfully putting themselves into
Order.
From entropy,
We all strive for order.

It's preposterous.

But it's alright,
I understand what it means,
What it is,
I think.

I never know anything, though.
At least, not like I want to.

And it's all these levels of entropy
And chaos, this, calmest of tempests,
That rolls and roils in my mind.
Flooding the halls with a cool
Sea,
My mind is confused.
I am not confused,
No.
It is just my mind.
My hands still know what to do,
And my lungs are still plugging away.
My mind is the only thing
That is discontent and confused.
Fussy.

Sleep is often a remedy,
But perhaps sometimes it's just malady.
But, being human
I must accept sleep...
Weird as it is,
Unwanted as it may seem.

Sleep's gotta happen.
It will either sort the entropy,
Or add to it.

Intriguing, isn't it?



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