Might we somehow partake in immortality?
Consider the atoms from which we are made, old as stars, though
apparently lacking that crucial element: consciousness.
I still enjoy my meal while nearing the last mouthful; yet life may feel
marred because it has an end.
Disillusion as a price of knowledge?
If an optimist finds a doughnut and a pessimist finds a hole: the optimist is more liable to end-up with indigestion.
Will our extended sensibilities one day reach to technological offspring?
(Perhaps leading to an “Android Liberation Front”?)
Should we perceive a certain narcissism in attempts to control creation, and where reproduction, which once required contact, now also results from masturbation?
Other levels of disenchantment:
Things I never found at parties…
interesting conversation; new friends; going home without disappointment.
Even while asleep, traversing many dreams the way I pass through life: as a bemused spectator, I seem barred from any wisdom of experience.
Forgetting, too, has benefits. When we struggle to regain our innocence.
Recently I woke telling imaginary listeners: “Orgasm clears the psychic residues.”
If dreams were meant to be remembered, would nature have made it so difficult?
Surprised again, by daylight,
I lie leaden with drowsiness
faintly sensing a barrier slid
across an exit
as the cavern
of my unconscious
seals itself behind me
What happened to inspiration?
How little was dredged-up
from all those feverish nights.
Now just questions remain…
Will I ever