Eschaton in b flat, hell portioned out in locrian mode

I find such a strange multifibered existence brought into focus when I examine the many realities I'm trying to meld in any given instance.

FOR 

EXAMPLE:

Trying to listen to an album called Occulting Disk by a guy who uses a self-invented instrument called the AudioVirus, attempting to visualize a screaming asteroid or comet that's not heading towards any planet along any particular vector and burning up, imagining these sounds as proof that we are conduits and not simply consciousness(es), letting the sounds shape my thought as winds shape mesas

WHEN
SUDDENLY:

Son wants to tell me about how he and his friend are killing other kids in video games

AND
THEN:

She Facetimes and tells me about how she's feeling sick and wants to see the dog .

--
I sometimes feel so much more at home,
                                         more appropriate when I'm left alone to these weird devices, escaping what other people who are let into my life are able to glean or affect or effect or impress on me.

How do you learn to let that go

and 

should you or 

should I just continue to compartmentalize

the savage

and

the scholar

and

the statistic?

Ya don't,

MAN.

You stay immiscibly hovering in the varying definitions, 

equally distant and connected to the varying frequencies, 

glowing in a light that radiates one wavelength when you're alone

glowing in a light that radiates one wavelength when you're not.

It's fine.