The kind of special that is housed in asylums
The kind that flitters in and out of your life
like a butterfly at the edge of your peripheral
I’m the special that paints The Starry Night
The Freemasonry special that founds contemporary civilization
While identified, evaluated, influenced and modified, my special remains stoic
She flounders, fails, ceases to stop her incessant rambling.
Hers is the special you find many times over in a lifetime, can never hang onto for long, coveted beyond reasonable thought though.
The uniqueness is carved as an etching in the granules individually sealed together with the boney collection of fleshed out and limber strings.
I can feel the very fabric of existence pushing
Nimble threads weave the special…the fate.
conscious becomes an unfortunate malignant tumour of legitimized rationality oozing with ideological purpose.
The spark is that flash of known unknowns. Science cannot explain it, though it tries.
the scientists waver and wonder why…the possibilities
Thats the special you shouldnt want to tamper with. Leave the mystery. the sheer velocity of learning draining the life force of mystery..the excitement of not explaining.
Im special. I am because I believe.
In magic I believe.
In special I believe.
In the known knowns and the known unknowns, I believe.
Belief is allowing your humanity not to dampen the flight of possibility.
What you know does not exist.
You are in limbo….That is your special