Through The Eyes of God

I had no one to look up to and no one to push me. I wasn’t going anywhere, much less where I wanted to go. And I knew I had to push hard because I want to go everywhere, I want to meet everyone;
I want to know everything.
They told me that’s not possible, but why not try to prove them wrong. I already know I can hear others’ thoughts and I know I can send them mine.
Then I can build a machine and amplify it as a simple matter of time.
TIME!? I’d better start there, living forever is only step number one.
Then off to the pharmacy I run.
I distill forever in a bottle to preserve this host,
Then I burn the recipe because I only needed one dose.
Onto you and your minds, I want to hear you all laughing at the same time.
I want to hear your best ideas so I can stitch them together and learn to bend space, and listen to everyone in every-when and every place.
At first it fills a room but eventually I get the hardware to fit in my pocket;
a new set of ears and a socket
so that now I can listen to a trillion minds
and I can process them on flesh, silicone, and atoms at the same time.
I simply offload the data into a metal mind.
I will listen with a smile but as a hobby, it continues getting smaller and more refined,
till I perfected all the pieces…
which are eventually modeled after….
mine?
I’m already made of this and made of that, I already have these pieces, I unplug and lean back.
Even without my ears and my metal brains I remember learning that I heard you louder with less strain. And on that day, I illuminate and say, it was always just the software in the way.
I release my hold and float into eternal thought, and I abide in this abode until a shimmer catches my eye, a light, a worthy story through a beautiful life,
and with the slightest impulse, I am torn.
Ripped away from “us” when “I” am reborn,
curious as ever!

About chrooth

No this isn't some sort of midlife crisis thing. I'm just adapting. Like anyone else on here, or who does this, I believe I am writer. Unlike most others, I believe I am a writer because I have always written. Long story short, I was a really weird kid and sometimes it just felt like the only place I could turn for some solace and empathy was an empty page. I've always been a melodramatic writer and I've been really happy for a long time so I haven't felt the need to write but when I do... I have to. I basically live on the road, so my journal is hardly ever within reach, and when it is I convince myself that I'm too busy to make any time for it. So here I am, embracing the future, having acquired the journal that will follow me almost anywhere. I'm having one of those, "WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THIS BEFORE!?" moments, and GOD after so long I can't tell you how good it feels to just let my mind spill through the tips of my fingers again. I suppose this would be an appropriate time to qualify both my ability and my intentions. I am not a good writer. I am told I have a strong tendency towards run-ons, I over punctuate, and I curse like a sailor. I can't spell for crap and especially while typing, I have a tendency to just leave words out. As I mentioned earlier this "blog" is meant as a replacement for my long treasured journal, which tends to imply a need for privacy. However, if you were to ever read my journal, you would eventually come across an entry musing over the purpose of a journal, wondering why they are written and kept in secret. I have no secrets. I had far too many secrets for far too long and I assure you, I have no more energy for them. Additionally, I can not properly conjure any feeling of being heard by manufacturing an imaginary personality that lives in a book and understands my words. So I write, and have always written, to you. Thanks for reading it!

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