Transcendental.
My words, in an attempt at speaking, end up being choked out by the tongue in the futile attempt at untying itself in the process of forcing words out, deciphering the meaning and information, registering whether to execute in saying anything at all, correct wording, correct cadence, and above all, understanding the meaning of the brain from the point of view from the ear and the mouth. What transcends, as the piece began, is that the mind crosses the necessary river of functionality of meaning and process, whether alone or shared, to a dimension above that the conscious self can immediately understand. What can be understood can only be done after great deals of self reflection or a trip of the imagination on a synapse along the leisure-ridden stroll of the frontal canal in your amygdala's park. It is exhilarating. It is so exhausting. It is so.... exhausting, to the point of collapse; to the extent of collapse that is so one falls in on itself.
Oneself, itself, as one, is one, one is and will be. What is, is, and what is, will be. Will it be what is it now or what it will become? What is it? What defines it? What defines what will be?
Gainsay.
Paradoxical. Contradictory that is the information that we constantly need in any given moment in assessment of surrounding happenstance of immediate environment. How little I have to say only reflects how much I say in interpretation. How much I say only reflects the details of the literature and not the message as a whole. It is oxymoronic. It feels wrong.
So why use these words? Why, or how even, does one title any project as such? Can they even title something such as this?
I want to provoke thought in the words I speak, but not to the point of hyper-analysis.
