Schizophrenia

Do I know you?

I don’t know me either.

Perhaps Google has more about us than we. It feels perfectly alright to search myself in the scope. Rather the thesaurus would even bring few parallels. Six degrees network makes me known to the mother of Sun. I could even name a Galaxy behind me, honestly! (for $50). Please. Please don’t ask me; who I am.

Surely you are not questioning the being; are you? Well; it’s not your fault.

For sure ‘ask’ has a fundamental problem, creating more questions… more questions leading many more. It’s a virus. Speedier than light, assuredly it is aware of my instinct; like liquid for the container. It tricks as if real. Or, is it?

Who’s it? What’s it? Can I find it?

NO.

It doesn’t look like coded that way.

If it did; I didn’t exist. Neither did you. For the belief that we find everything in binary system, at least I’m firm I’m not the only one. The things that I experience are the instances perhaps self chosen. Weaving the floating labyrinth of ‘nothingness’ - to a touch meaningful. And the meaning that I always negotiate seldom has any meaning. Significance of this negotiation is to share. So you exist. You help me worth the substance. You try to weave something that has an open end. You ask me to free the entangled knots. Perhaps I’m getting to know who you could be.

For the bald-faced-open-tag labeling my identity; forcibly roots the hidden choices that I never made. Why is that what I’m that I’m not? Is it a conglomerate protest of the deprived and privileged episodes within the self?

Wha!? What the f..k is that?

Disagreement between me and my mind. Both are in war for integrity (false).

If eternity is all that a cycle, would you mind yelling it loud when I’m approaching my next choice? I’m getting deaf. Can you? There seem to be zillion solutions out there, could you please help me find the right kind of problem? It appears that the problems I’m practicing don’t match the solutions. Since you are the only other, how about bartering being the catalyst. Don’t worry about the virus. We got the weapons to kill each other when they go out of control.

It’s a game... yeah, yeah... I know... isn’t it? If I didn’t win… the game was flawed and if I did, it was boring. I’m sorry if you lost it occasionally. In a competitive behavior someone has to give up (sooner or later). At least on those occasions you lost, made the butterfly flatter in my stomach.

Pain, I too have enormous respect for… for the fact that it reminds me of you. I’ve a convoy on an endless journey to nothingness. At least we can accolade on our achievement and hate to love. We could wait together to see the time passing by. I agree... the pain isn’t the actual problem.

It’s the solutions out there, in real mess. Surely governing dynamics (or the nonesenseness) is not the only way to gauge equilibrium, there must be some mathematics to what I fear? If everything has a purpose, it should follow a plan. If there’s a plan it’s programmed. The program is an equation and the equation is mathematics. See, it’s bloody real. It just needs a verifiable data to support and nothing could witness it better than you’re your proof of existence. Feel safe, I’m not going to kill you to end symbiosis.

Days would come and go. I’ll live with your ugly face but a comforting reflection echoing the vague vision of hope. Uncovering the enigma of an identity lost in the nothingness. To find and lose again for an eternal journey often puzzled. The virus would grow. There’ll be more reasons to find problems. The zillion solutions will haunt in vacuum. I shall rest for you to find yourself in knowing who I am.

I won't hear again "you're the surrogate me". Wake me up when you have some newness.