It’s the hamster wheel struggle. Round and round with no way out. Reactions which were at first adaptive become mind traps. Oppression breads hatred. Kindness does not resist, does not know how.
Infused with new knowledge, I sent sigils out. My chaos reflects back at me, my magik can only adapt myself. DO I change how I carry my body? Has this struggle become habit. They say, what, 40 days to make a habit? Live in this mess too long its time to reorganize with chronic aching limbs. How long can we last. How do we make this new hope turned trap new again. The addiction to flipping energies but never cleansing. My need for sensory diversity throwing me in desperate harms way. It is adaptive to create and crave a complex life that does not lend me to destructive boredom. These are the things I am learning about myself.
The broader the audience, the vaguer we need to be, as strangers pollute meaning. Through the need for a crisp clean truth is somewhere, it is not here. My life needs no citations, my eyes are enough. When humans became habits we need to escape them, I wish for no predictable love affair. Though getting the exact same breakfast with my Superior is a nostalgic routine.