Pressure is off. I never left that place that had stacks of cups laid out on tables on the well-watered lawns of childhood. I never left the gigantic tires that have dwarfed over time and now I'm a well-dressed criminal swinging on the mantle of great disappointment. I count my blessings without remorse to the humans I've destroyed on my way back to the source of all future anxieties I currently reside in. To tear open the continuum, someone must get hurt, or at least heart-broken. At least brain-punctured.
Happy angels, falling gloriously out of the clouds like comets that did not burn up in the atmosphere. Into the ocean with a great splash. They pervade my sensibilities with feelings of awestruck numbness and I climb out of the hole I was in earlier this month. I had been digging for something impossible to find underground. Not gold. Not oil. My fucking soul.
I dug in the soil searching for my everlasting soul. When I die it will enter the atmosphere and prevent comets from entering the ocean.
Closest contact I've ever felt. Almost unbelievable. That a week passed without regard to the present.
Grassy knolls, beers in cans then pressurized water bottles at movie theaters, spraying all over the self check-out stands, the money spent well in a haze and the job opportunities searched for hopelessly, and the writers believing everything they have heard for the second time, there is no way to avoid taking lies to your grave, there are ridiculous connections made in your mind, who your father is does not define who you are, no matter who he is, too many men fall victim to that fallacy and believe themselves to be an heir to that life that will never be theres, maybe in a monarchy this is legally true, but nonetheless, the son would rule such differently, no matter how much father-son counsel...
Grassy hills overlooking surfing babes, tall boys in brown paper bags, laughing and rolling down hills, frisbee in parks, reading in libraries, kissing hair, swallowing pride in the shallows and waking up every morning with fantastic humorous accents, germanic tribes and european heritage, communist countries and communist cunts, ignorance is bliss.
The only universal truth is that there is no universal truth. Besides gravity, naturally.
"Stealing your kisses at night."
Fell into the rabbit hole, passing over many lanes of highways, made uncomfortable by the thought of girlfriend and the amount of effort it would take to maintain a healthy relationship, let's not talk of this at the dinner table, let's talk about light things, like politics and value judgment and the poor quality of service and the lack of a liquor license and the beer tastes like filthy mexican rivers here in this colorful consciousness, remember your dreams? I slept beside you, attempting to share that imagination but I remember nothing. Only a stomach aching due to over indulgence. My heart aches similarly.
Watering plants. Natural light. Building our own furniture. Procrastinate. Music.
Sadly much too present this last week to know exactly what I did.
It was wonderful, surely.
