so that lennon guy is a nut, who the fuck cares

2003-09-18, 3:50 a.m.

conversations become new when the molds are removed from ideas you put in storage. they sprout on your skin, they flower, attracting bees, new chords for your acoustic sound. i want to know, believe, whatever it may be that i feel, what i saw this morning, and what it could mean. because wetting your feet in the water of vastness beyond compare, it is altogether frightening.

saturate just a morsel, chew it in your mouth, with the ivory plates jostling back and forth. when the taste of introverted inspiration hits your tongue, fireworks pop in your voice. you have a vague recollection of any point in history, equally aware of its former existence, and what it means to the absolute 'now'. like a father strolling with his young child, you can feel the warmness of times palm, the tender respect for your porcelain face. self aware, time takes to the water like a seal, whose jet black coat of fur cries away the sea water. you find yourself there again, at the waters edge. water without molecule, landscape without background, the abstract becomes the real, education is the car ride home, nothing left to do but step forward.

in that precise action - there is nothing of time or space but all of its suggestions- your toes split apart, no reaction by the nerves. when the water, which has no color or feel, contacts your legs, their is an equation formed and solved, upon your skin, your flesh is wearing a new sort of fuzzy innate, relaxing the muscles from the bone. waking up, it could save the body and what parts of the soul that acedemics cling to; a final chance to re-evaluate your surroundings. but with the last breath, which you need not take, the air of 16 billion years fills your lungs.

weighted

tunnels

your thoughts are blocks

the shapes you see

are nothing

solid translucence

static transient

go home, finally you are home