Bastardized Insanity

I think there’s such a thing as bastardized insanity. An insanity that you have no ownership of but it follows you around like a helpless stray dog panting for you to feed the pitiful thing. We all know what that’s like. Well, I do anyway. It’s something of a ball and chain. Forever fettered to this gargantuan weight pulling you down to an insecure comfort — walk the plank with your own personal anchor. The travails of purgatory begging to be acknowledged when all you desperately seek is one breath. One measly breath above the undertow. The heart of the sea, indeed, when water is all you can see for a visual infinity — makes for a poor existence.

I continue to face experiences in my ocean that make me question an absolutist reality. That there is such a thing as an objective experience. I truly don’t think there is any one way. There may be islands  and isthmus of similarity that we may run ashore and, for a brief moment and undulating wave in time agree — and, just as quickly as that agreement washed up on our common sand — it returns to it’s own oblivion of mystery. Forgotten and never known except by the two, who, for a speck of time, found themselves nodding to the same sound. How beautiful? Yet, simultaneously equally miserable. As the tunnel ticks and the sun sleeps, we accept and release. Natural cycles of this life. Breathe in and heave out the old. To abandon my proverbial ship, this eloquent speech and poetic  floating device — bastardized insanity is a *****.