Being a stranger in a strange world, I feel more at ease. There are no ties binding me to my surroundings, or anything. I go voluntarily... no past, no future... a quieted down means of expression and experience. I exist comfortably, knowing nothing of worry outside of the time being.
And that, I think, is the key to understanding the truth inside: a blank mental space with no prejudice, and no pretense. Freedom of communication lives in the present, not static or fear. I simply find interest in living, to roam with no real destination.
Still, I too settle into improvisation... as a means of coming to terms with the augmented reality of an intrigued societal subjugate. Concentrations of commentary wax poetic and wain philosophical.
And I have woken up... out of carrying contentions and back into the hear and now, meandering through the faint atmosphere and these shaking shadows. I know intrinsic certainty in a true melancholy stability, even though the boundless do invade my mysterious, mortal dwelling. A temporary peaceful vessel, I see the horizon bend light and time... and I'm nobody.