couldn't really say

Still can't. It's too confusing to explain. Past any marker of my reality. Past a point of sense; a new one begins.
I had a birthday and with it clarity. Unwavering clarity. Everything lined up and I checked to see where the moon was in relation to the sun and the stars. The stars sang answers down to me; falling on plugged ears, my clarity is consciously-confused.
Like little kids in tea cups at the fair, shit is spinning and when I have to get up I'm sure to fall hard under weak legs, hoping someone will pick me up and allow my bleeding visage to be sick all over them.
Something in the way of things, something 'bout that.
From highs to lows faster than a manic-depressive on speed in a rocket ship. It's great. It's greatness in small slices, the slices done with mechanical precision from a butcher using sharp blades and tremendous force. What was cut and what died? Each slice is a taste, each taste a longing for something more in me.
This isn't blogging is it? Is it just a jumble of thoughts through characters, words filling the gaps in perception, perception itself a tool for the incongruities between reality and feeling.
And fortune cookies. Sometimes they get it right, sometimes they tease. I'm glad I live near the Wings factory; I know what goes into those delectable treats isn't predetermined. But they tease nonetheless. They reveal through their crunchy shell. You just can't be afraid to bite down and sink your teeth into what they preach even though they'll be gone before I can spell mastication. . .