One day the winds shall blow my way,
To the light, the light they always tried to explain,
to the feeling, the feeling we always resembled to that nothing we never touched.
To be possessed by the ways of nature, oh so beautifully uncontrolled, or what the Tao call "self so".

Our hearts beat "self so"
The winds blow "self so"
The female cats walk ever so coquettishly as they squint there eyes towards the sun light, "self so".

I saw a woman yesterday, all dressed up behind the fabrics of man, living the rules of man, breathing the dust of man.
I saw a woman yesterday,
who missed the chance to grasp it all on her own,
A woman who never got the chance to howl!
I saw a woman yesterday, who has not much to give now,
After all that has been taken away,
I saw a woman yesterday who stared at the ocean,
but did not dare to kiss the waves.
I saw a woman, for all I know might not be around anymore,
and for all I know, it might not make any difference to her.

Herd the masses to proudly choose finite dreams in pitch darkness,
While the skinned and ***** live with in the infinite realm of hunger, in all clarity.
Where the pilgrimage to the rigid boundaries and bars of dogma is portrayed as spiritual enlightenment, when as the little matchstick of a soul they had, has been taken away with all ease and love.

So what is the cure for deeply wounded my love?
If the cure is of any consideration at all?

Our nation is what it eats, drinks and moans in delirium, and sometimes, all we can do is accept it.
To blame the ignorant for their ignorance, is the essence of ignorance itself,
For they are just a product of the nation of dust you ignored and spat on in the past.
And now, all you desire is to drink from her Nile, but without its poisons

She coughed blood all over me today,
but I left it there to stain my skin,To accept it, as we accept our moistened bodies from the hazy afternoon heat.
Three days straight, eyes to eyes, body-to-body, wired and rebellious.
The substances come and go, and all we do is welcome them with our frail arms down our streams.
There might not be much to do outside in the world, but on the contrary, there could be with all abundance.
But with her, half naked across the smoky room, that’s been smashed to bits by our symphonies of rage, is where it feels just right.
Pieces of glass from broken windows, ripped out drawers and her skinny figure is all I have at this moment, and it’s a beautiful thing.
And as for now, starring at her hips, her Bermuda triangle that I get ****** into with all submission and silence, makes me feel grateful,
Grateful for the acceptance,
For not too many skinny ladies, brown eyes and lush brown hairs accept a man in the state I’m in these days.
Acceptance is what keeps a man alive, and sometimes, is what makes a man a complete *******.
Its a hell of a journey I have to say, licking the sweet and soured spices off each other’s skin,
Its a hell of a journey in order just to accept one another,
its a beautiful ride ,my love.

Just because the ****** aren't whistling out in the streets,
doesn't mean they don't exist behind the walls,
gratifying the lonely sweaty old men with bad breath and office jobs.
And the junkies, the homosexuals, the drunks, the degenerates, the runaways, the infidels of society, who all live discreetly behind the curtains, perfecting there arts and habits,
perfecting them away from the law who once promised to show empathy,
away from the law who once spoiled and anointed them with patriotic flirtations.
Just because the ****** aren't tap dancing outside your window,
doesn't mean they can't be found.
Because you are who you are in this world, and it's a blessing to cherish, chisel your path with all integrity,
despite where the path may lead you at times.
Reject whats spread out for you on the surface,
it will only offer you banality and false promises,
you'll be thrown in a haze with obeyers and the shadows ,
the ones with out a grain of inquiry to give the now and tomorrows,
It will only make you weak, it will only let you down.
Just because they linger behind the veil,
doesn't mean they don't exist with a lot to give,
because we are who we are in this world, and to not take pride would be such a foolish act.
So lets gather around to re-ignite the campfires, the banging of the drums and the howling,
lets contemplate the art of ****** and philosophical inquiry,
lets become our own gods and prophets by our own brushes,
because this is an art, a sacred art, a religion like no other ,
to get loaded, intoxicated and deteriorate the concept of time,
to dance under the moonlight with the tribes,
to wipe ***** off our faces in mosh-pits of anarchy,
to let the wind pierce through our nostrils on the back of a truck off to nowhere,
and to love!
to love, to love , to love, with out a shred of fear of rejection or shame.
Because we are who we are in this world, and the boundaries they force upon us are not real,
there just as obscure as they have ever been, and forever will be.
we are, who we are.

When you talk about Her of the past. Her of the present. Her of the future.
When you talk about her as a metaphor, as a shadow, as a ray of light.
She will come, I hope. In ways you would not imagine.
Through the sunny cornfields or through the undisturbed sea.
She will come.

To sleep while falling down a stairwell, and to wake up in familiar sheets.
Those pillars, walls and high ceilings. Boxing us all in together with what we are, and what we have. Where am I?
The silence is al I need from the people, because the noise comes from with in me, in fragments and waves.

In the midst of knowledge and lack of interest.
In the midst of the schizophrenic and the sane.
In the midst of a generations pulse and silence.
In the midst of rainbows and a shade of black.
In the midst of learning within walls and mistakes.
In the midst of a diamond cave and decay.
In the midst of recession and curiosity.
In the midst of ******* and beliefs.
In the midst of losing and meeting people, with in people.
In the midst of corruption and delicacy.
In the midst of holy metaphors and touches.
In the midst of scratched knees and ignorance.
In the midst where black smoke, meets clear blue skies.
In the midst of isolation and others thoughts.
In the midst of debris and empires.
In the midst of a womb and a crippled old man.
In the midst of what you saw, hear and everything to come.
In the midst of phases and judgment.
In the midst of an ultimatum and obligation.
In the midst of white sheets and brown eyes.
In the midst of fantasies and ceilings.
In the midst of sight and dreams.
In the midst of contact and illusions.
In the midst of classification and fractions.
In the midst of repetition and time.
In the midst of blame and arrogance.
In the midst of feelings and stones.
In the midst of a significant others warmth, and a stranded iceberg.
In the midst of emotions trapped under dry soil, and the season they bloom.
In the midst of walking with clothes, and sleeping naked.
In the midst of eternity and extinction of saliva.

I’m here waiting to pierce through your existence.