Unedited Spontaneous Writing
Go down o go down to the running of the wildest river and drink free with the hand that touches all hands and be with that green leafy moment in the most delicate of places forever. Be one mind with all of everything and pray for nothing more than now and what use is anything else in the fumbling mindsprings of the windswept world. Take it and make it and give in not up because up will come as everything will in the great holy unfolding of the epic mystery of day and night. Hold and hold and never fold just glow in the every heated loving gold of the chase and the pace and the slowness of the row. And I’m no expert in all of this but I know enough to share and find myself within the you. The beauty of the afterflow flaking gold of you and everything that goes into it . you. We’re all along but only the open will truly truly find and then be wise enough to remember to breathe.
Flickety flickety spending cent of empty place blickety blink. Rock and doddle and getup and spit. Floating chocolate and visions unspent. Take it and row your endless boat with it, with what you know. And one and two and blown out fireworks to infinites end of all that is black and all that is white in the spiderweb of night. And there’s all the time in the world for slow and for go because the thing is you don’t even need to know because it’s all inside your fingertips anyway. Flackety spackled jack of all the aces you’ll ever hold and let go over and lay down and mould. Blippety blapetty fidgety gloom and everything that lies as truth behind the clouds of the windy afternoon. It’s all there for you and you for it and really there’s nothing more to say. And maybe I must give into the idea that some things are beyond words.dig that.beyond ‘em. Because words come from humans and humans are imperfect but life is the absolutle ultimate perfect poem and the song ends before it is played again.
November 4th, 2010 at 9:07 am
Mexicans walking aimlessly hubris laughing a woman weeps flecks of silver and brown rust fall from the pipes as she leaves me for another. Faulty cravings hopeless desires of wanton women unashamed at their flowers of bickering grass biting and maiming dozens of passersby fleeting moments of lucidity await in a moment of grandeur and resplendor mistakenly thought to be the norm by those who love it most in wobbly ratcheted sloops packages await those who call for them passing rose colored cheeks dying to touch posters plaster a silicon screen of iridescent glow unearthed by ancient men to lead the way to an apple tree on the side of the road. in burminham. the year is 1843. Most people forget that year so long ago but rather than accept the dreadful fate of this things roaching persons waiters hurt reaching silently to a shelf in the corner waiting to vote for their day. I miss her i really do. I needed to tell her. I never told her. Place me in the line of mocbeee silly hurriers of the inevitable. I’d take my but there is none to take. I’m trapped in a cycle of pinapple rum and floozie women that I will never know I stay at a length away from those who care I know not what my reasons are maybe he can tell me. who? him? why? Oh I don’t know, maybe its because I’m so confused with my own life. I thought I was insightful once. Insightful yes, I can analyze, but that isn’t the same as understanding myself. I need to feel with those lonely mexicans launching a watercraft to drift past the men wearing the bandanas who convinced their parents to hang themselves. A terrible fate
August 31st, 2011 at 8:22 pm
wonderfull
never read something more easily understandable