Wilting Flowers
What in life is commonly shared
But to scream out in frustration together!
From this chair I watch the flowers droop
As useful purpose is cruelly removed,
While my freshness disappears,
Abhorrently, in sustained tears.
I scarcely question depression’s invasion
And try half-heartedly contemplating escapism.
It’s the complexity of organismal cannibalism
(Feeding on each other to thrive in this environment)
That bends my conscience, revealing nature’s intent
Of a point desperately sought, “called meaning.”
And then to be disappointed when it is discovered
That the answer lies in a vase of wilting flowers.
Epiphanic jubilance as you begin exerting pharmaceutical control over your mental chemistry. You start to see that radiant joy, manic despair, mild boredom and every other “feeling” are merely patterns of chemiconeural-synaptic-firings—patterns that are now under your control. You’re the Head Mental Music Composer. And now you’re turning the broken cassette tapes of trite cover-band grunge beats into a live-blasting supernoval symphony of Mozart on crack:
Shift all incoming experiential data to a cosmic perspective of organismal meta-consciousness…Species consciousness…Genus consciousness…Family Consciousness…Order Consciousness…Class Consciousness…PHYLUM Consciousness…KINGDOM CONSCIOUSNESS!
Blast-off. Simultaneons of Valhalla perspection. Words have ceased to mean. You are now communicating directly with the laws of physics. Your thoughts are angels that fly with wings of ethereal mega-competence.