The Complex Amplitude of Ritualistic Chosisme

Starring off into the middle distance
she thinks
to herself
What is social media success and why is it a thing and kill me now…
I (She) I (She) think(s) my biggest problem is that my thoughts interrupt themselves
like, I’m okay with being alone until I hear someone say don’t isolate and I start thinking but wait, isn’t that predicated on being alone how can I be okay with something no one wants me to do
with shit that doesn’t seem to connect and suddenly another one butts in…
like, why the fuck do people want gigantic ass mansions, like the thought of having to physically and financially take care of a huge ass building stresses me out like, do I really need to impress other people this badly that I am going to take on this much more maintenance work in my life or worst spend all this fantastic money just paying people to take care of all this unnecessary landscaping and plumbing
…with two cents no one asked for
like, maybe this life isn’t a simulation but it certainly is a video game, how are we all not getting played like puppets by somebody including ourselves, played and fooled and bamboozled and acting out on false assumptions and generally being toys for something or somebody or another
and then suddenly my (her) my (her) whole body is not moving and I’m with the thoughts thinking them thinking about other shit
like, I don’t want to fucking have to make a brand out of my human experience, like how is that any different than being a battery in the Matrix why do I have to sell my authenticity and have people watching me to see how to be when all they are going to do is turn into me too so what do we all do create avatars that can lead other people into what, some sort of delusional shared dream of being what, nothing at all really fantasies of our fantasies powering our fantasies, the shit is becoming the way we govern ourselves, please like and subscribe to me…
while they think themselves and the shit is crazy
and people look more and more like puppies to me every day, like when you look back at the hard rough pre-versions of our species they look built like survivors on this rock and we look like tiny little cute Pomeranians of them or something, like all the wolf that was there is gone in almost all of our faces and if you want a little you can get a doctor to strengthen up your jaw but you need the big doe childlike baby koala eyes, strange the giants all went away and when we see somebody tall we think they are prehistoric and dumb, but look at the totality of us, trying to all be the same thing and now I don’t know if that is bad or good, maybe its a step in the right direction to assimilate into one type of being so we can fight against extraterrestrials but why is it the babyfaced version of us that we love the most and it seems so fragile though... and I don’t know what to do about it but I feel like being aware of it is a good first step or something to maybe better organizing them or to not using them anymore as an excuse for being so fucking still… but time slips away when I (She) I (She) write(s), and supposedly you should use your time here living your passion but my thoughts, they won’t let me be
like, I’m always wondering and worried about what I am being sold, a label is a negation because a map isn’t the same as a destination and when will I stop being me and can I fast forward to the last time someone ever remembers me and should I order that shirt or should I put that shirt money away or should I buy whiskey and drink this life away and when do my thoughts stop being facts again when they so heavily influence my actions?
She stamps her foot
to wake herself
and notices
that she’s missed a mandatory conference call
yet again

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