God, the Verb

The longitude and latitude of my body, the different spots where these lines cross - they are a little bit like god. Each and every time.

Mapping the soul, marking the spot. A spot.

My skin, a soft ground receiving life, breathing in the whole.

I am creation. "Don't think, meat" (I do love that line).

a lovers hand tracing the curves of my flesh. Sweet, beautiful flesh.

I straddle and ride with pristine honesty - your god.

I am the essence, the act, the undoing

I am.

I Will Not Call Myself a Douche Bag - Anymore

It's a funny life. We live here among each other, loving and hating each other.

I both love and loathe my fellow humans. I hate their arrogance, their subtly screaming superiority complexes over each other, their asleep at the wheel attendance in life. They're, we're,  ridiculous and beautiful for it.

I hate my own arrogance writing these words.

I stand in a tall white room by myself, the corners dirty with a spore like shadow that grows ever so slowly to the bottom. I am bored with the revelations that remove me from my culture, but I am content to be here. I do like the quiet.

It's like running my hands along the tops of tall grass as I walk through a vast and empty field on hot summer day. The only sound is the light wind and the sound of leaves breaking from the heat. It's beautiful, isn't it?