underculture

sometimes I realise that just under the surface there’s a monologue, a constant. close as skin, unnoticeable as breath.
a tale of strife or woe, like an eager captor, cracking the whip. or I’ve been wronged somehow, prevented from being at peace.
then I think ‘fuck, I’m crazy’ and then I may even worry about that.
sometimes that’s just life – a cascade of emotion, a flood of worry.
and there’s nothing wrong with that, that’s why I say it here, because I believe it’s not just my shit.
there is no cure but maybe just putting it here will help a little.
we want to be powerful, invincible – perfect.
this is as close to perfection as I can experience. to keep opening up to what’s there and to expect anything and everything

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