There is so much I believe in that I do not believe in or know.
Or understandingly know that I do not know.

The words of wisdom are folly
or that the air is full of lies
or that the rain falls in circles
or that this life is...
...just what it is.

There is such a strong streak of independence,
it runs here and there.

It is almost damning as it is life,
the relief of self into this...
...being of what is and will never be.

It demands it self be subtle,
yet at times it screams as is.
What is and will never be
as it lives and breaths as me.

Angst laced unrest is such a fun term to think about.

Especially considering the awkwardness of the world.

How self absorb the thought of self is, in and of itself.

It is hard for me to process or understand the stuff going on in and outside of my mind...the process of being...the thoughts of seeing...thinking...desire...want...all of these unknowable extremes of life and then some.

What is?
What less?
What more?

It all is and nothing more than will ever be.
Left and right turns.
It is all philosophical in their own ways.