are you ever scared to look at your own truth its bare, naked eyes crawling softly from you not knowing what you may find? I have heard it said a man must be aware aware, or dead dead as can be so what am I? what are you? I look around and the world unfolds like an ancient map at my feet dangerous and wanting wanting what the brain will not tell the eyes what it must see what is more real; the known or the unknown? and will you take the chances to find out? look in the madhouses, there they chose the unknown by knowing. there they are called insane and some of them are, insane indeed and some just misunderstood, or perhaps them all. what do I know. we may never know. we never choose to. look to the streets, the vagabonds and the prostitutes share ruthless black concrete, a roof folded under, understood in their heads. I love them without motion; none needed when all is one, one is all. look wherever they are not telling you, in the crevasses and the corners and behind the walls of reason, false education, and unholy disguise. it has been said and proven; to live is to not conform- one must grow naturally and learn to fix his timeless, infinite eyes.