Who Am I Really?
Underneath the desire to be heard, to be understood, that’s where reality lies…
I wrote this directly into Substack (https://murasak3y.substack.com/p/who-am-i-really), which doesn’t automatically capitalize the first letter of each sentence. Fuck going back and changing each letter… it reads the same, it means the same thing.
This piece was lightly edited… I typically edit my pieces so they are super easy to read I guess… but really who gives a damn at this point haha please enjoy my experimentation with a more true representation of how my pen scratches the page and how i scratch my itch to… be human I guess.
Stop trying to understand, stop trying to be understood… stop trying to breathe. stop writing for the eyes of others, reading for the minds of others as if some test follows… what am i doing? this obsession with knowledge obscures my spirit, it weakens my words, it makes me unable to excavate the impossible depths of my heart. it serves as a buffer, one I’ve been working on, making thinner and thinner as time passes. i occasionally break through, no longer slave to the intellect that asks “ How does this sound? Does this make sense? Is this clear?” These questions that stymie the flow of my spirit into the physical world, instead being filtered through this warden we call knowledge, which arrests the…
