I’ve started to root my feet as I walk so as not to fly away my head is up inside the clouds and clouds aren’t here to stay
Appearing normal as ever I was so it appears I walk on ground yet inside my mind the streets transformed a different time, a long lost day, reality unbound
You see, I hesitate to admit the spontaneous overflow of emotion that overwhelmed me this past weekend uninvited tears and two ice cream cakes
Later and I feel better than before and stronger without falling feel I’m falling safely to the ground after being so far away in order to survive
That is the key. Traveling far away my way costs a little less these days when travel is forbidden on a political – I mean for-your-safety and conspiracy theories
Dismissed once more completely unlike twenty years before when a 9-11 call came to distress a nation continuously paying for the evil deeds it continues
To commit. So it seems unfathomable that I should be able to arrange words in a way they’ve never been arranged before since everything is repeating itself
How did they find their way here now to your hands to your eyes. How many parts of your mind are you using to comprehend this basis and how many senses are liberating you or simultaneously imprisoning you in samsaric pleasure seeking yet no endless bliss I could be anywhere in this warm hazy gloom I’ve created in this room electric guitar riffs and smoke lifts, incense and candles burning low, low like my gaze, low like the spirits of the masses drawing near the end of what some may call a “fucked up” year check it out as a meme somewhere
I want to be held by arms that love me even though arms cannot love and to pretend the body and mind want the same thing is deceit
Smokey blues, and my bare feet stretched over the back of the kitchen chair in front of me. Not warm nor cold and so I can no longer sense them and my mind in a trance disconnects from my body and in the flickering candlelight dance with the clear, thick sound in my ear I lose myself, I lose the moment into a single sensation of the moment tactile functioning ceases as auditory rapture plays a different sensation across the skin. What’s that, pores? Bring a friend! Goosebumps rise to no end.
If you run your hand against me now to this solo I may literally die of overstimulation and it’s not just the copious blooms of Mary Jane’s bouquets floating through the dark nor is it the magnificent high although it helps it’s this fucking art to heart music in ear and olfactory tickling dense breath via nostril and the trance of expression while simultaneously bearing witness to manifestation and expressing and perceiving the metaphysics of this existing in the future space of your present moment.
This tragically ignored dependency worse than the drugs used tonight has mutilated our minds into ignorance rooted deep.
And so this skin feels music as touch and yet feels touch not from within this dream realm which is impaired life, I feel the strings as fingers strum on skin and percussion as too much at times too intense but oh that brass really gets me from the inside out really putting the sax in saxual intercourse. The woodwinds in my hair and as whispers on my neck – over the top sensations that would give anthropologists cause to study: what drug is this?
And gypsy magic would be the reply because the music is the magic and the roots run deep the attachment runs deep
Yet rooting here I am attempting to root also so that I might not fly away this time, at least not today I’ve got busy work not time for play touching my hard nipples to rock and roll and blues outside of the dream the kitchen chair is damn hard on my ass and I have to adjust my position and leave the reverie behind.
The Halfwit Writer 