The thought process

The thought process: On a wearisome, typical stroll through the neighboring forest, I was caught within the act of meditational festivity although, it was not so comprising; in the sense of typicality but, there i stood underneath the ashes of the begotten buddha trees tears, not the tears of sorrow, for those were my own spirals, scowering above me, just as his ash was sinking as highly as the acid of my tears, just as they began to cry their own children, like the precipitation of the seed of a flowers dew right before a morning brew of suicidal embellishings over the japanese horror forest. I took a seat, firmly callading my legs into a position where i could become comfortably compacted, without the straining in my loins to force me to get back up, due to uncomfortability; so, i sat and i thought about my immediate past and my immediately recurring future, that was eqaully the present, the past and the future; which makes me often wonder why the concept so much persists at all, it must be due to the becomings of societal materials that often seem not to change, despite the oft repeating changes, whether anyone can gather the realization or not. Looking down at the soil of my best friends innocence, the gravel darkened from the day befores drought in a hellfire of rain, like drowning within a volcanoes wrath but, without the recurrence of lava and with all the outbursts of coal but, without the incense. I attempted to gather my schizophrenic thoughts, though, i couldnt help but grasp the thought of schizophrenia itself, and i bothered to think about two thoughts that had just passed, further more giving my head and resortationary body the proof that i myself had the symptoms of such; i then clamped a heap of the buddhas pain, put it to my lips, kissed it, and then swallowed it; letting his seed, letting his pain, his knowing, and his wisdom, become my own, to become my bowels new organs; since my own embodiments cant seem to clear the heart burn itself, nor could my body get along with my thoughts; but of course that is due to my own thoughts in themselves. Odd though how i regard my thoughts as being themselves. Anyhow, i finally gathered my thoughts, and then arose from my tree companions' labrinth and began to center my thoughts, though i could not help but feel the remenescene and nostolgic rememberence of this very same moment; was this a deja vu of the sorts? or was i dreaming a dream that could only reflect my cerbreal neuronic fusion to relapse and tell me that ive only been dreamt myself into this pool of rancid and awry belief? Or perhaps, all of the above would aspire to being more than partially correct. As i arose and completed whatever i thought i was thinking as a thought, i began walking into the forest and the buddhas family, ever attempting to wonder or figure if i were connected to my thoughts correctly, to my meditation and to my stroll, to know if i were dreaming a dream of realities or the vice versa, if i were having withdrawal symptoms of deja vu or if i were just a pathetic poor amnesiac strolling, thinking schizophrenically, dreaming, meditating and talking to myself all at once. Many a man would like to prefer the phrase,"either or" and a human wouldnt be incorrect to a limit, if he or she or the hermaphrodite were to think as such, but they would be limited as i stated just now, and they would be definitely unexstenionally positioned oddly and freakishly. So, i stand and sit and lay and walk and live and die and choose and perform and many other things on the perception that i am doing all of theses things whilst i am here in this bleak and extravagantly awe inspiring, deliberately mind boggling and moving forest from which i stroll. And he strolled and strolled and strolled again, but was not hesitant to come back to same thought that so paradoxically encumbered him to the point of the extremity of exhaustion itself; he went through several, multitudes more of thoughts, but aboriginally and naturally, he came to think of the same thought he first started with; no matter its oddness or pecularity, he and his best friend known as the buddha tree, although known as rahiim as well, would continue to walk the path of paradoxism and its mysterious unraveling theory and hypothesis', finding newer things of old and older things of new, but wherever they went, they simply couldnt, and wouldnt stray away from the ever enveloping thought of the first thought that was thought, on that perfectly eventful day; though it may have seemed uneventful to the laymen, but that is for another day and another story. Nonetheless, the man and his companion would become enshrouded in this process for all time to come, always scoundering in the game of thought, as they walked the path of dreamers, of theorists, scientists, philosophers, of schizophrenic amnesiacs, or deja vu empirica eccentrics; whatever they may be or become, they will always continue their path to something; but who knows what that nothing or something is, not even they know; so they walked and walked and walked, periodically doing theoretically the same thing they always do, wondering whats next and predicting that outcome; as they ventured into the endless but ending cosmological spectrum of their own brains. The forest was long and short in their own terms, but, they new that wherever it brought them, they would have an answer, and of course, another question to accompany them on their path to the whatever...............

Author's Note

Review it as best you can. (I couldnt spell check or revise this at the moment; as it was typed in 12 minutes, and this site wouldnt let my cursor center properly; sorry for the misconvenience.) And to those imbecilic reviewers who cant pull a real critique from their brains such as on my free style raps, then dont bother reading this perfect work off the top of my head. Oh and reviewers, this is the best youll ever see on writerscafe