What is my philosophy journal? Do you really want to hear things like that?
If so then I’ll tell you
I believe in a reincarnation - not that kind of come back like a tree kind or flower or ant shit
I believe that you come back and pay for what you owed or collect that which you lost
And you meet other partners too and embrace them and struggle through who and when and what
And the times you have are only mirrors of that which already once was/what will be. I was once a magician I’m sure of it and a seer and still hold those seeds inside though I burn them to lay concrete
I believe that what you do comes back to you and that’s kind of the same as what I already said up there but you can forgive me journal - I believe, like karma, is that that’s how it will be. And you send out lovers and you hope they come back.. And you fuck up and you hope it doesn’t come back. That is what we all do. Karma works best for people during times when they are feeling in need of the hope or are drunk on pleasant hours
I believe that everybody has a good and bad that are the same thing like two sides of a coin, or swords, or I can’t remember really, but I believe that good and bad are not that far from each other. They are a Napoleon and Cleopatra that seek to kill each other while they slide into sheets.
I believe in God though don’t always know how or why but I believe in a personal kind too not just a fuck distant white one or force or a feel I believe that maybe God comes to me in the nights and still sings to me when I pick up a pen and speak to you. I feel it like an old record you listen to as a child and still you stop and remember always, every time, every time, you hear the words - it is a faded love that is renewed at every song. I hear the song every day and love God though I don’t know why and sleep rarely
I believe that nobody cares anymore about what goes on inside them and they only want drinking and old stories - they want cursing out of windows and cabbies blaring their horns, a drag queen and a pusher in an alley, a blind man curled up on an old Toshiba box, a cop on an intercom - or whatever outside can distract them long enough for them to avoid asking real questions like who am I and why. Or asking about life behind things, behind the eyes of the plastic and secretly breathing, the alive, expanding and forgiving all that went wrong, all that we terribly rushed into and underthought, places we’ve been that we left trails of violence upon, cities and temples we knew with no solace, forgiving the turning of hearts and the tongue of deceit and the thoughts of the pauper, oh we are undone by the glory inside when we are awake. But when we sleep all is lost and the hollow lands around offer no comfort and no truth nor wisdom and so then retreat inside and throw off your idols and only do right. Like this:
We claw at the walls of our captors
We restrain our desires
We fulfill our desires
We see things
Oh we have it worse than all
People don’t believe us
They don’t trust us so they stone us
Ask for more understanding
They push us out alone
Without a home
Without a wife
Without a purpose
Other than seeing
All to do is see
And whatever’s left
Are drugs to kill the seeing///