Blinding

All the walls of dreaming

They were torn wide open

I could finally see

The spell was broken

All my bones began to shake

My eyes flew open

No more dreaming of the day

As if death itself was undone

No more calling like a crow

For a boy, for a body in the garden

No more dreaming like a girl

So in love, So in love

With the wrong world

With the wrong world

Tar

I feel like walking, moving, breathing destruction. I am realizing that I am sinking down into something, like a pool of thick black tar, and I'm as hungry for it as it is for me. Something is shifting, being itself made solid and whole within my chest. It's a strange sensation, and somehow liberating. I feel as if I'm shedding skin, emerging from within something that had previously confined me in such a small, cramped space.

I made a fist and fully expected my flesh to crack and fall away like dried ash or dead leaves. I was surprised when I remained intact.

And now I don't know what to do with it.

Plans and Blueprints

I didn't have a plan B. I barely had a plan A. Then I was thinking that what I really need to do is stop trying to have a plan.
Sometimes I think my brain is like one of those squiddy sentinels from the Matrix, the ones that are just hell bent on ripping everything to shreds and creating utter chaos via destruction, yet it's all done in a very calculated, methodical way.
So it all boils down to me rethinking and restructuring things, yet again, because I can't keep from wanting to have some kind of blueprint for what's going on. Taurus. We like to have structure. I find no peace in saying, "Oh, fuck it, let the chips fall." That just seems to be the philosophy of someone who doesn't know what they're doing or what they want to do. That seems lost.
But I do sort of question fate a bit here. You can try to make plans but that doesn't mean they're going to work out. I feel now like I wasn't so much making plans as trying to force situations into becoming what I wanted them to be. Or thought I wanted them to be. And I've been ruminating over the balance of things, the predetermined versus the completely random. It's all very esoteric in some respects, but the outcome of these revisions in my thought patterns remains no matter how I evaluate it.
I am wrong all the time.
And now I don't trust myself.