A body
Made of exactly what, the doctors can’t say
Not with systematic certainty at every point
Some reactions go unnoticed, masked and concealed.
There are too many actors.
Doing too many exchanges, the cummulative effect
Measurable perhaps.
Something is always happening, even when we hold onto emptiness. The mind electrochemical, hosted by so much skin and bone.
Written by the chaos of time, with a chance at transmission into society originally just simple DNA.
Modeled vaguely in terms of rules and bonds.
Every possible connection would be too much information to hold, while still doing the next right thing for a creature such as you or me.
How much can the mind truly hold when within it come instincts, drives, and shortcuts away from what’s best for the host body?
Sometimes the answer recalled isn’t what is reflected back to the world intelligently. Sometimes, it’s a trauma reaction – a cognitively flawed program uploaded into action by the perfect storm.
A body alone can’t be the source of a
Life well lived
Considering just a body, it isn’t likely, no matter how strong. When all that meets consciousness at the door is a heartless routine, normal mimicry, there lies a void between the synapses connected from a days hard work and reverence. Broken bodies still serve the machine. But… Something is missing, something is lost.
A mind
Made of exactly what, the scientists can’t say
Not with certainty
Dualism the separate, the disjoint, the barely possible
Realms distinct, with transference heaven sent.
Are voices angels or demons?
One can’t say with certainty, nor can one say such a thing of a man.
Idealism the concept, the impression, the innate capacity
Maybe all my mistakes that led me here are all in my head.
This simulation sucks though and I’m betting on getting out of here.
Single minds, connected in clans, in families, in societies they are all but the cloud in a mist and it follows me. Common knowledge denied, abnormal perception unable to connect me with them. One can always talk about the weather. Idealism, really.
My ability to interpret protected against cat calls from years past, I’m trying not to react to those of the current day. Appearances aren’t reality, nor are words true unless they can be questioned.
I learn disbelief from the streets, at ground level.
A broken system, without adaptation to the situation.
But what’s broken can sometimes find the beat.
With or without technology.
It’s not a trance, it’s a state of mind
And
It’s somehow about equality.
Real voices, that cascade like a chorus, a consensus
The duality of opinion
not knowing but saying all the same.
Each mind, a node in a network whose thoughts are connected by vibrations of air, by oscillations of EM waves, by minds separate from ours but not so far away.
In this society, there is a right to privacy that when denied can lead to a breakdown of singularity. A diseased mind hacked by so many lines.
They repeat themselves without a beat. I don’t transmit them out, because to me, a mind should be self-contained.
But we’re connected
Wired from within for empathy
That’s being broken digitally.
Trust in society, it must ratchet up. If not that’d be something difficult to hold in the mind with a belief in that society.
It’s a system that’s supposed to work but isn’t guaranteed to
But we’re all God’s children last I heard.
Whether we are blessed to work or not.
What’s left – in – a disconnection
A break from the norm, a mistake in being.
What’s left
besides
the struggle
To connect
to be valid enough to be.
Without
Outside,
explanations from the authorities.
The mind, a web of connections, like the bonds of water molecules
Holding the substance together
As a fluid entity.
Where is my mind?
Not simply within me.
Not everything I hear, not everything I process comes from within the constellation of memories
Voices external, used to be called artificial, now judged with perspectives protected by the mainstream.
We learn to make up our minds in such a society
A society that learned about the mind by a pike going through a working-class bloke’s head
He didn’t die
All they do is analyze the life he led.
A sad story.
Could never happen to me.
Regardless of the weaving of one’s internal network.
Things shift quickly.
Simultaneous is the effect of an ideas propagation
In horror and in chance
In trauma or a kind embrace
Give it to the gods, to the goddess, to something outside of me.
But
Isn’t chance just simple probability?
It was bound to happen to someone.
Everything certainly isn’t preordained, because despite being disordered
My will is free to me, at least that’s what
I like to perceive.
And in this world that is my right.
Today.