I’m pretty weirded out by everyone in this thread saying Mom is high as fuck or having a mental break because this feels like a pretty normal series of thoughts to me, and not like something that would be distressing or brought on by distress.
A few years ago, I saw some online discussion where multiple folks were saying you can’t write a beautiful poem about spiders, for whatever reason. At that point, I was deep into writing poems and I do think spiders are swell, so I actually took that as a little challenge to write such a poem. After half an hour, I had something I was happy with and just threw it into the thread.
And man, the reaction will forever sit with me. Around ten folks responded. Every single one with yet another variation of the same joke, that they wanted to know what I’m smoking.
Even when I disprove their thesis, that you can’t write such a poem, by literally just doing that, they still need to declare it impossible without the use of performance-enhancing drugs.
I guess, I might have a special talent there, but it was just also particularly weird, because I’m practically clean-edge, as in the hardest drug I’ll occasionally have is coffein.
And yeah, that just left me with the same bewilderment as you. How different is my reality from theirs that they absolutely cannot imagine such thoughts occurring without drugs?
No idea, if that and the dissociating are linked. It does probably help a lot with poetry, too, to look at the world for what it is, rather than navigating it on auto-pilot.
The shift in the unseen eyes as the thread takes hold, suffocating and spinning; a meal for me, an annoyance for you. In the corners you don’t check, a cornucopia of opportunity as yet another morsel is discarded, attracting them by the droves, your apathy to your own glutton as forgotten as the coconut you keep under your bed. (And, scene.)
Unfortunately, I didn’t save it, because it wasn’t amazing or anything. It’s in some random internet comment, and I have no idea how one would find it… 🫠
I’m pretty weirded out by everyone in this thread saying Mom is high as fuck or having a mental break because this feels like a pretty normal series of thoughts to me, and not like something that would be distressing or brought on by distress.
A few years ago, I saw some online discussion where multiple folks were saying you can’t write a beautiful poem about spiders, for whatever reason. At that point, I was deep into writing poems and I do think spiders are swell, so I actually took that as a little challenge to write such a poem. After half an hour, I had something I was happy with and just threw it into the thread.
And man, the reaction will forever sit with me. Around ten folks responded. Every single one with yet another variation of the same joke, that they wanted to know what I’m smoking.
Even when I disprove their thesis, that you can’t write such a poem, by literally just doing that, they still need to declare it impossible without the use of performance-enhancing drugs.
I guess, I might have a special talent there, but it was just also particularly weird, because I’m practically clean-edge, as in the hardest drug I’ll occasionally have is coffein.
And yeah, that just left me with the same bewilderment as you. How different is my reality from theirs that they absolutely cannot imagine such thoughts occurring without drugs?
No idea, if that and the dissociating are linked. It does probably help a lot with poetry, too, to look at the world for what it is, rather than navigating it on auto-pilot.
I think you hit the nail on the head here. Very few people are capable of examining their loop for what it really is, let alone going off autopilot.
Post the spider poem
The shift in the unseen eyes as the thread takes hold, suffocating and spinning; a meal for me, an annoyance for you. In the corners you don’t check, a cornucopia of opportunity as yet another morsel is discarded, attracting them by the droves, your apathy to your own glutton as forgotten as the coconut you keep under your bed. (And, scene.)
I expected that response. 😅
Unfortunately, I didn’t save it, because it wasn’t amazing or anything. It’s in some random internet comment, and I have no idea how one would find it… 🫠
Well at least it’s out there, thanks :)
Some people just have a very narrow existence, I bet your spider poem was great.
It was for me too. That’s why I opt for the tofu now.
Also, what’s wrong with being high as fuck?
You’re just casually slogging through dissociative existentialism on a regular basis?
Aren’t we all?
You guys are getting through?
If you’re going through hell…
Keep going. Why would you stop in hell?
Who said anything about a regular basis?