I’ve thought a lot recently about the way I think. Which is weird, trying to dissect my mind and my eyes. I’ve seen the world through the same perspective for all I can remember and all I’ve known. But what is it really? Is it really the way I see it? I rely on my eyes to show me the world so much, but really there’s more to life then I can see. Eyes are just tools to see the world in certain light; they do not show you the world. So what is the world to me? It’s rock in the eternal, intricate, obscure design of the galaxy. A dust in the compounds of infinity. Where billions of years evolution and of DNA swapping take credit for the delicate structure of life itself. Where minds are neutrons and movements are muscle contractions.
Or a simple place were things grow and things die. And things think and they write. They smile and they laugh. Where they do unreasonable things for no scientific reasons. They play instruments and flail uncontrollably to the beat. Things cry when they’re sad. Things sleep when they’re tired. Things love when they are loved. Things are things being things.
So what is this.
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