Image by Angelica Westerhoff
Talking about hidden locomotive memory transmitters, fueled by emotive, no rational motives.
Sort of realize memories play tricks. Especially memories not remembered, showing their presence in a hidden way, sometimes like a sly louse fly. Buried and forgotten traumatic emotions learned in times of child hood.
Born into a world to be formed. Babies so tiny, their eyes so shiny . The whole soul sucks up all. Kids are so small. The surroundings so tall.
Born to be informed and misinformed for good, born into a warm home of norms. Being dictated to with repeated contradictory manners and forms by gigantic angelic or godlike adult gnomes. No wonder teenagers moan. And they don´t know they are prone to fall into the same damned goal, like a ball in a hole.
Knots of emotive mental heart deformations are being formed, in this young heart, ever so bendable, so dependable, ever so flexible, so stretchable. Anything´s edible. Stress can make a mess, don´t tell me not.
The snots of soul pain are being sucked in like before, the sore heart now wants more. The need to repeat the same record beat seems feat, but it´s all a cheat, if the heart´s not a love seat on the upbeat.
Why not create a different addiction for the heart? Time now to tidy up and clean away the cob webs and and all the other blebs, and make it all comfy and lovely.
Love to you, my heart. Finding ways of soothing you.