the windows always let in that shape, that particular shape of hope, those rays of beauty-not-far-off.
outside and inside her head it makes no difference, there are wonders to be had.
/
unwound once said that the drawback to living was finding yourself. i used to find myself agreeing, with a sunken head. now, i wish to view the finding of oneself in a slightly different light. one of waging a constant battle against nothingness, and even from within the vast nothingness becoming exhilarated, almost drunk, with hope for
better things,
even lost things,
but always better,
warmer,
somehow.
the mind has an interesting way of casting all different colors of light down on every situation, every little thought which flits minnow-like from infinity to infinity within the skull.
there is an imprecision to life that we humans often neglect.
in our experience, and in that which we experience, perfection is rarely associated with life.
i played piano earlier. it felt like in the playing of the keys i was interacting with lush jungle vines and leaves, and also stars and constellatory entities. my fingers wouldn't stop dancing, stretching, working and singing.
