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can you draw tension like smoke up through your lungs and hold it
for a moment in silence watching as the ridges of the mind wobble
like jello and breathe them outwards as space harmoniously opens?
a work of art is never really yours moreso than the shirt on your
back, such forms are boasting pieces of conceptual furniture
which securily weight you to the ground freedom is the artists
empty canvis in the mind
the stale air stink of metaphysical scallywags is to speak about
the sacred as if one's very words were not their first, only, and
babble matter rearranging the hollow ad infinitum foolishly
thinking the chest box of several small old trinkets are
meaningful and new
the wisdom of the earth hanging out in grave yards long forgotten
overgrowth clumps over nameless tombs we rest in peace and all is
the truth stands behind me tapping me on the back a mystery,
unknown, all i'm sure is its presence is here happening right now
and daunting me to have but a peak and when i do it's gone in a
flash behind me again tap-tap-tap giggle, like hide and go seek
-------------------- Everything is better than it was the last time. I'm good.
If we could look into each others hearts, and understand the unique challenges each of us faces, I think we would treat each other much more gently, with more love, patience, tolerance, and care.
It takes a lot of courage to go out there and radiate your essence.
I know you scared, you should ask us if we scared too. If you was there, and we just knew you cared too.