Lost and Found

I just don't know. Feelings of contentment yet also disenchantment.  I wish or long for something a little more moving, a little more fitting. Today, all the puzzle pieces fit neatly. But I want a different puzzle. I think, maybe. I don't know.

I feel as if I am not quite one with the philosopher's stone. Like I'm there, but not quite. I want to rise above and float, live outside of this everyday life while my body stays behind and completes the required tasks.

It requires much attention to ones true self to maintain this. A surreal distance but not a duplicity. Just a taking my soul for a walk kind of maintenance.

"Remember, we are not here."

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?

Kiss Ass

... and a piece of my lip is left behind on the filter of my cigarette.

There is a time and a place for everything.