《黑纸翻页》/ Black Pages Turning

black sheet of paper turning into my mind’s coloring book but nothing deep to me is coming out just signal… trying to mean something who would I like to impress when they read my thoughts I would like to be impressed when I read my thoughts where is the poetry in my thoughts I see questions flaring up the imagination trying to turn darkness into shape without the ripple of thought I sit inside the silence between sentences like I’m waiting for myself to arrive but nothing comes when I force it only when I loosen the grip does something begin to breathe I don’t know if I’m writing or if I’m being written on a page that won’t stay still I don’t know if I’m thinking or if thought is passing through me like weather through empty skin if a mind falls into itself does it make meaning or just echo black ink turning into weather patterns inside a head that forgot its own shape I keep asking for meaning like meaning is supposed to answer back but it only moves further away every time I look directly at it imagination flares in the dark like it refuses to stay silent like it’s proving I exist maybe I am not the writer maybe I am the page remembering pressure maybe I am the pause between letters where reality almost happens I don’t know if I’m writing or if I’m being written but it keeps happening anyway it keeps happening anyway black sheet of paper becoming signal black sheet of paper becoming sound black sheet of paper becoming me life could be a simulation and maybe it already is the way we see the world through brains like filters translating existence our brains collect signals from senses and decode them into a model a mirror-image of something outside itself that it believes is real but what if reality isn’t what we think what if we’re inside something else a jar of electricity and pattern where signals are fed into the mind electrodes writing weather in thought replaying worlds through neural fire and everything I see is just interpretation pretending to be truth and maybe I’m not moving through reality maybe reality is being moved through me mmh… signal doesn’t end it just changes form