Is today the day I die?

Under any scrutiny I lend myself to the simple thoughts of an animal. It's not that intellect surpasses my line of thinking, but a general disinterest in anything with the inclusion of ideas with academic merit, has caused complete collapse of my once diligent brain. Things don't engage because things can't engage because I can't be engaged. I can find no importance in the interaction because it's all imaginary. All the things that people ask me to partake in are made up by them and people in general. It's all so exhausting. And I can't do it.

I can't be an intellect for the mere fact of being an intellect. Maybe that means I'm not smart. On all the levels of my consciousness that aren't overtaken with vanity and insecurity, I can accept that with minimal disappointment. My skill is not intellect, but learning. 

Which is why the things that compel me to engage are not the same bullshit things that spark the normal persons appeal, but rather things of infinite mystery. Things that are not merely illusions, but stimulate my mind to know beauty. 

And I don't get that. Unless the sweet scent of honeysuckles is seducing me, or the the songs of the robin are entrancing me, or the the wind is beckoning me to come fly away. As the moist dirt grips at the pads of my feet I can feel the importance of just being, and all of it's magnificence. How important it is that of all of the probable possibilities, I am experiencing this now. That's got to mean something.