I Should Be Asleep Right Now..

I am starting to think that my mind knows what is better for me than I do. There's this absolutely brilliant and terrifying spectrum of noise around me all the time and then again I only perceive the slightest bits of it now and again. Something is only music if I want it to be music, if I tell it to be music, the same way that this hall is not as beautiful as a canyon or cat or Calgary or Christine at all. And yet it is. Of course it is. Every single minute detail even in this small hall on the ceiling, feeling the same way I always do during an intense session of stargazing. You just look at the carpet and for a moment let go of all your inhibitions and what you're trying to tell yourself about the carpet, everything your mind-knows-best attitude says about the carpet being a uniform plane on which to walk and nothing else, no abnormalities, nothing worth paying attention to, and you begin to feel angry at the people that might have dropped the hint a long, long, time ago that this carpet wasn't worth looking at. The dots, each one of which enough atoms to feed a continent, with enough persona to love for all time, to never know all the facts about. And I feel this way. It comes at me when I try to leave my place in the middle of things, when I try to reach out to other spectra of size, smaller or larger, mildly more minute, like the carpet, or incredibly vastly larger bodies than myself. Maybe they can think, Jupiter or these weaves of coloured fabric I walk on. Likely it is that they have their own lives, their own families, their own happy suns and daughters and sons. In fact, I probably believe in that more than I believe in the sentience and/or sapience of most humans I know, biology and common sense aside. But please! Let me communicate with them! I cannot reach out to them, talk to them, get to know their dreams or if they even have dreams or words or minds like ours. Such a disconnect exists between what our dictionaries, such horrible, closed-minded things, call life and what life actually is. Even if we are the only aware, aware things in the entire galaxy, wouldn't it be horrible if we went about our entire lives believing wholeheartedly that life is a separate distinction? The Philosophy of Biology reigns supreme over our arrogance, even my arrogance, or, more accurately, the arrogance of a mind that tells me to ride certain coasters and skip others, skip the majority. Don't you want to hear the sounds you never hear, touch the signs and smell the colours that you can never feel ordinarily? And yet I know, I know, I know, I know that to ask for such a wonderful and wonderful and aforementionedly terrifying gift would kill anyone. There are reasons why we only perceive small fractions of sensory input. Come on. I am Winfield, I am human, I am somewhere in the preposterous middle between nuclear physics and behemoth galactic clusters. I have to be where I am, I have to know all about where I am, and I have absolutely no idea why. For some reason, although opposites attract enough, I must pay attention solely to my kind, my size. This is all geographical. And isn't it odd, everything is smaller and larger than me at the same time. I sat up a few minutes ago and all of a sudden I was struck with an intense feeling of wrong placing. Or perhaps that's not the right word for it, but it was something... along those lines... something that existed and was telling me that everything I was looking at and ever had looked at was wrong, that there should have been other snippets in different places, a strikingly dazzling girl walking toward me at deep dusk in a field of grass with a startled and imperative look on her face, a woman crying, her face bleeding for some generic war problem, someone worshiping something, maybe God, who knows, Hands, length, width, bubbles, a cityscape, a human being wishing for solace, solace, solace, solace, solace, solace, solace, solace, solace, solace, solace, solace, solace, solace, solace. And, and. More noise. Someone's coming. Divert myself, divert yourself. Help me. Help yourself. Now I am decaying. I decay. Stop me, or pardon, it's just too late. I want connection. I want connection please. Look at me. I want connection.