When I Touch Upon Human Lives
Intoxicated I am with unexplained emotions, unrelated thoughts. And only then I do I want to write. For ears are deaf, minds are focused with unseeing eyes, and mentalities still as morning waters. So quite are those people, their images that caress my mind flicker as in a silent movie. I am insane to be able to predict their actions. Predict their words. I do not think myself clever; on the contrary I must be insane to be this prophetic.
My being so transcendental, has tortured others more than myself. They cannot understand my intentions very well, which need not be explained. It is all instinctual. Not calculating. There is not a thought behind it. I have learned to live with that. That ability to feel, flow and then pay the price.
To feel others is to open a portal into their confused minds. I say confused because they reflect, and by reflecting upon me, they confuse me to them. And that is how I know them, and they never know me. Unable to know me.
Pity then overwhelms me. That is the danger that lies within me, for then they cease to be what they claim . what they claim in desperation for recognition. But what I do recognize is their insecurities, weaknesses and hidden hopes. They too sense that only to recoil in fear. Fear from my reach into their immortality. When that was only my trial to join our humanness. Our frailties.
I am in that sense a very dangerous person. But the evanescent nature of false individuality in people renders me not only harmless, but quite indifferent.
Yet for that same reason I am passionately loved, and greatly remembered. By men who cannot claim me. Men who are forced by their demanded roles into conventionality. Men who prefer me as a fantasy. Prefer that they do not bring me down into those petty struggles in life. Men who prefer to destroy themselves rather than destroym e. They the ones who love me gave me a gift. A fractional taste of that life, so as I would ascend back. There where for them I eternally should belong. Untarnished.
I have grown to believe that that is my place. A place where I am greatly alone, till death us do part. Where my purity is preserved. My sanity absolute.
My being so transcendental, has tortured others more than myself. They cannot understand my intentions very well, which need not be explained. It is all instinctual. Not calculating. There is not a thought behind it. I have learned to live with that. That ability to feel, flow and then pay the price.
To feel others is to open a portal into their confused minds. I say confused because they reflect, and by reflecting upon me, they confuse me to them. And that is how I know them, and they never know me. Unable to know me.
Pity then overwhelms me. That is the danger that lies within me, for then they cease to be what they claim . what they claim in desperation for recognition. But what I do recognize is their insecurities, weaknesses and hidden hopes. They too sense that only to recoil in fear. Fear from my reach into their immortality. When that was only my trial to join our humanness. Our frailties.
I am in that sense a very dangerous person. But the evanescent nature of false individuality in people renders me not only harmless, but quite indifferent.
Yet for that same reason I am passionately loved, and greatly remembered. By men who cannot claim me. Men who are forced by their demanded roles into conventionality. Men who prefer me as a fantasy. Prefer that they do not bring me down into those petty struggles in life. Men who prefer to destroy themselves rather than destroym e. They the ones who love me gave me a gift. A fractional taste of that life, so as I would ascend back. There where for them I eternally should belong. Untarnished.
I have grown to believe that that is my place. A place where I am greatly alone, till death us do part. Where my purity is preserved. My sanity absolute.
posted by pstpst at 9:58 AM
>