Contemplating the reality of the unknown

Every poison is a pleasure,
every pleasure is a poison.
If you overlap chaos,
again and again and again,
it becomes order.
The beauty of love, pain,
life and death.
Fibonacci's sequence, eternal.
Building on the past.
Taking from the future.
Perpetual motion.
The swing of the pendulum.
To and fro, fro and to.
Chaotics are the building blocks of order.
Order without cohesion,
random motes of chaos.
Madness of genius.
Genius of madness.
The known vs the unknown.
What is real?
What is not!
What is accepted?
What is feared!
Something is nothing.
Nothing is something!
I know nothing...

Last Call

I came to my senses in a run-down, two bit bar on the outside of some forgotten town. My tumbler of scotch was sweating like a politician in the hot seat. As I looked around the dingy dive, the smell of a hundred years of mold and mildew crowded my senses. Neon signs, half-lit, were the only source of illumination available. It was then I noticed her noticing me. She slid my way in a dress tighter than the Pope's purse strings. Casual conversation gave way to proposals. I declined. She said, "oh, you're one of those." I guess she was referring to a romantic, poet, believer of love. I was. She told me there's no such thing as love. It's as much a fantasy as dragons and unicorns. If it ever existed, it perished with other fantastical myths. She promised she could act like she cared for me if I gave her $200. I had already been suckered into that gig three times. Again, I declined. She disappeared into the shadows as quickly as she had arrived. Fuck her. Fuck them. Fuck them all. They all tell lies to try and fulfill my fantasy. Never again.
I fell back into my melancholy state of drinking. Amber promises. Liquid love. No expectations. A strange echo reverberated in the darkness, "last call!"

Today's Mental Spaghetti

I lost sight of the fine line between the things I knew and the things I thought I knew. Reality and fantasy fit snugly like 2 jigsaw pieces. Imagination has bled over into so-called rational thinking and steeped logic with variable densities of "what if?" Madness has infused with genius. The perceptions of what is and what could be, no longer have an aesthetic Chasm between them. The possibilities of the impossible seem as plausible as any element  of the reciprocal. If this is insanity, I gladly welcomed it. I am no longer tethered by the mortal chord of cyclic parables?