We're like bubbles
Any comparison is true
I just like to write into the days, listening to pages rustle is my calling. Librarianesque? Swimming the waters of word that are the collected 'Hooked: A philosophical outlook on life' series. Winter seemed to stretch far into the night, it was the dang air conditioner. Too cold. I am just a lowly peasant thought, and my bones call for justice. As I stepped over the sticks that paved the road I heard the rally cry of a bird misunderstood. Squawking in a tree, I could on go off searching for a ladder. Building these hones on the land being alive in these bodies we blossom in the universe. On these twoughts I dwelled as the rain began to fall outside. But I have been in this psych ward for several weeks now, I stopped speaking many days ago and surrendered me to fate. Now she's an old grandmother eating the proverbial worm in the bucket. I must have dropped my cigarrete on the side of the road, real life I thought of. The air you breathe could be your own breahth from a million years ago. The feeling of submission, of giving up. I know a lot about it, even just now I've given up on exerting myself anymore. The good, bad, and ugly of life all have their subtleties but I am only a lazy transgender gypsy,who will really befriend me in the town, love is stuck in my mind, holding me like the oceans hold continents and have you seen these things?
Prince of dreams, with your messy room, your cape, and your indecision shine on the shine of my heart and as I give myself to you to carry me upon everyhting thought & silence closer to the weels of joy being that they are everywhere and no where.
I live in the branches of herbs and trees that are the arms of Siva, I am quiant, a farmer by nature, living in a world of my own down, my wife has shown me many things to help the days and nights burn awy more purposefully and truly.
Such as- it is okay to be myself and let myself go crazy in fact it is the only way, the world is full of people who, having become insane, only then were they authentic, only then did they give the real bondlessness of their spirits to be felt.
Its okay to want to be refered to and treated as the female that I am, to become girly, soft and sweet, to feel and act as the earth, the mother spirit and in turn become the grandma as we grow deeperi in our lives this richness is time, its the same cycle as all of nature follows.
Friends, we live in a dream but one thing is real, being real, it must be only ourselves who are all connected in webs of energy that is sometimes called language. We speak to our dreams and create them with a language of word, symbol, and event that we must trust ourselves to interpret, ultimately independent of other's views. I experience the universe in myself, but who is my friend then who tells me so much I do not know?
This has been called loved, we cannot understand it because we are it, or as soon as it is understood love becomes seperate from us, and a universe of its own. But all being connected we have all made the same error which I will now correct, thus finding my role in my own life and also the community which are reflections of eachother. We always forget that words are just words, and we need to "feel" this truth that is before any remarks, because then who can fear death? Then what can stop this love we all have? Even now what can stop it? It runs its full course through all of existence in a millesecond, it inspires songs, songs to feel, but even now I am full of words, I got to go feel something
I heard incoherent bag poetry
