Thoughts Illusions and Patterns of A Bohemian Gypsy

I still feel stuck. Most days are bland, colorless or the meaning behind certain stimuli doesn't seem to exist.  There will be a day or two, or maybe even a week where I feel slightly elated to some extent, but then it starts all over. As I go through this,... I don't even know what to call it. Best I can describe it, it is some variation of a neurotic schizophrenic psychosis. There is definitely a degree or neurosis. I have at least noticed a pattern in my thoughts that border on the line of depression. I feel anxiety most days and I have no idea where it comes from. The schizophrenia I notice in my attempts and desires to withdrawal.  The correlation between my own thoughts and my feelings is so far off center, I am only left confused in my obsessive compulsion to think. Think through the problem, reduce it to its most simplest form. Find common ground, make the connections and by default, find comfort in who I am and understanding in the essence of my nature. But the more...

        Rites and rituals, they seem to all be gone. Or maybe not gone but have become so construed by our society that the essence of what they are has been cast by the way side. Maybe there are some that see things the way I do, but I do know I want change. I can even see its latent course beckoning for awareness. But I feel as though the dogmatic fight me because they themselves are afraid of the change. Time changes everything. To fight it just means you prolong the inevitable.  And I feel put in the dark because of your antiquated perceptions of grandeur that fell by the way side as soon as I realized religion was not all that it was told me to be. I felt put in the dark when I realized that our politics were a giant fucking game that the corruption of which only  hurts people on every level. I felt put in the dark when I realized I was utterly alone in fighting this abhorrent war between freedom of mind, thought, expression and the condescending energ...

Nothing can take Superman down. The power, the force of nature, the heroine, the suave, the enchanted...not a damn thing except kryptonite. Have you ever been referred to as someone's kryptonite?  I have. Sometimes I think I only feel hurt and pain. Like nothing else would register unless on the spectrum of agony. I feel more at home there most times and this scares me. Like the only thing I recognize is the dirty grunge of a hollow soul, my soul. The empty cries echo off the walls of forgotten misery, I ache for a longing that I won't allow myself to feel and in the wake of it all.... a love so pure, so raw,....and I refused to see it. So what does the kryptonite feel? A beautiful emerald green, power so forceful the sands of time bow to its fury. But, it only knows to be, to stay true. And even in the honesty of its own  existence, a way still seems to find the destruction that it can cause. Like Murphy's law, anything that can go wrong will go wrong.  Even now, I feel ...