falling is good.

there was something i wanted to write about, but i just can't seem to pull the words together. perhaps i am too lazy to extract them from my head and physicalize them on this computer screen-- i enjoy writing with my hands a little more than typing. actually a lot more. there seems to be a stream of energy that is far more individual and captivating than typing perfect print and using the delete button. i guess there is more room for editing while typing. which, of course, is one of the reasons why it is so wonderful, especially being a journalist or something of the sort. however, i argue against this technology for the sole fact that it's not raw anymore. i like raw. raw is nice. it's refreshing, sometimes harsh and crude. but refreshing nonetheless. it's insightful and it helps. it helps the individual materialize and organize their thoughts and it allows the reader to evaluate the writer and themselves in a far less critical and judgmental fashion. however it is very true that our psyche inhibits us from writing "all-natural." while we mature we are so easily influenced by the people and things around us. they influence our choices, our judgements, our behavior, our tastes, our dislikes. we are like prisoners to the world around us and it is extraordinarily evident in our writing. so about this writing. i just want to write without editing or judging or evaluating or even thinking. i just want to write. words pile up on us day after day. we hear them, we feel them, we touch them, we breathe them, we think them, and we manifest them... some good, some bad, some tall, some short; some brown, some yellow, some pink, some blue; some fat; some smelly; some sweet and some sour. just all off. all gone. just to write exactly what's on my mind. like a child. i guess it's a process. something like stripping. or peeling. it's a question i like to ask myself, what's really on my mind. what am I thinking about. just write it i guess. the closest i get is when i just sit down naked. after a shower. with just some water or burdock tea and just write. at first i formulate the words. they slowly stain the off white paper in my journal. but after a half hour they start to fall. my brain gives a little i guess. like it's sleeping, but i'm still awake. sometimes the words fall out of my mouth and onto the paper before i finish my thought. there are tingles sometimes in my hands, maybe from being tired or maybe from some type of divine universal power holding my side. i like the feeling of this kind of writing, naked-tea-writing. introspective at times, contemplative at others. and for the most part complete gibberish. but it's part of that peeling. the stripping. it's good, sometimes dirty and uneven. other times sweet and quiet. sometimes they itch-- scratching, scratching my skin until they fall off. red and swollen, but at least they're off. other times they fall like dead leaves. dry. colorful and settling. the stripping is good. naked. burdock tea. it's good. it's a good start, a good new. i like writing. with an ink pen and paper.
falling is good.
naked is good.

summer love'n

Our yesterdays are but dreams,
Tomorrow is merely a vision,
But today lived well
makes every yesterday a dream of joy,
and each tomorrow a vision of promise.

om shanti.

bum- bum bum bum bum.

my dewy-eyed disney bride, what has tried
swapping your blood with formaldehyde?
monsters?
whiskey-plied voices cried fratricide!
jesus don't you know that you could've died
(you should've died)
with the monsters that talk, monsters that walk the earth

and she's got red lipstick and a bright pair of shoes
and she's got knee high socks, what to cover a bruise
she's got an old death kit she's been meaning to use
she's got blood in her eyes, in her eyes for you
she's got blood in her eyes for you

certain fads, stripes and plaids, singles ads
they run you hot and cold like a rheostat, i mean a thermostat
so you bite on a towel
hope it won't hurt too bad

my dewy-eyed disney bride, what has tried
swapping your blood with formaldehyde?
what monsters that talk, monsters that walk the earth

and she says i like long walks and sci-fi movies
if you're six foot tall and east coast bred
some lonely night we can get together
and i'm gonna tie your wrists with leather
and drill a tiny hole into your head.

Thank you Andrew Bird.