a life that went from mostly winter to somewhat regular but still erratic seasons.
my journey is an inner one, an invisible one, a nonlinear experience that i can observe and express from infinite aspects of which make it paralyzingly hard sometimes to choose which one to pick to identify with and bring to life…
do i make actual sense to anyone ever? do i make sense to myself ever? when i review my expressions sometimes my stomach sinks and i think fuck im actually insane and deluded as hell . maybe i am because who…am….i?????
who i truly am does not and will never make sense. it is senseless :)
gotta laugh at the one who needs everything to make sense
who is that one?
can i find the sense-maker?
where is she?
the only thing that can make sense is what is already here beyond sensing-senses
can't be the sense-maker to make sense of it the sense-maker is blind, deaf, and dumb she seeks sense but only ever finds nonsense



















