Back from the future

the future you think you know is never really it. oh i've lived in so many imaginary futures, misty landscapes of hopes and wishes. always inside the illusion, the fear of stepping outside strong enough to touch but too subtle to grasp. right there, feel it? just above your stomach. like a knot, curled so dense it's almost black to the feel. instinct keeping it tight, protecting. i've woken up after days inside, years, who knows? looking back at the hollowness of it.

this permeating psychosis is sometimes real, sometimes unreal, sometimes everything. subtly massive, embracing.

and then the moments of clarity, the braveness to stop. letting go, one instinct pitched against another. the expansion – a sense of strings unwinding, of strands breaking, something tearing apart. but it never quite breaks, an entire universe always just out of my reach.

i don't know what to make of it. maybe it's me trying to live that saying – it never plays out like you thought it would – not in retrospection, but in the present. but there's something else too – something more subtle; that feeling of being tangled up into a vast web of stories of almost ungraspable dimensions, and of those endless loops of recursion just outside my consciousness.