Jul 2013
A note: Notice what feeling, if any, arise when reading the writing in-between the stars, let it breathe and keep that feeling or no feeling until a new one arises. - Saeng-Fah *
the tickling smile that only ever , ever appears on the corner of lips * Don’t lose your head , we’re all mad in here.
Sumptuously deliciously mad.
* the last , late rainstorm, unexpected, a long time after the rainy season had ended * The signs are just so queer…like nothing you’ve imagined,
* the slight intrigue that feels familiar * before, it had seemed that there was no tomorrow or yesterday…* the look …well it’s almost too good to be true, because there isin’t.
Swimming in the water all you can do is float. There is no time to build to that point where there is acceptance, like the time right now. That all we have is time, all we create, all we collide into is the time we make.
creepy guy, standing at the street corner, writing rhymes under the street lamp, who you thought was an ax murderer as you walked by* All we spiral out of makes more, of whatever we built time with last time that’s fo sho!!
dips his hat at you as you pass by, the night all of a sudden get’s serious but stop making it and start feeling it, well then…
* the sigh of the wind ripples a stalk of wheat, where a ladybird sits, she has 16 spots, all around her spreads a field of yellow wheat ablaze in the afternoon sunlight. Under the Oak tree sits the french boy from downtown Paris, he softly strums the guitar as he hears the drumbeat. Beyond the tree lies the open Savannah, the planes where we run wild, where we run free, two by two, i’ll be the crow or will you be the fox? Never mind dear, we’ll be a mixture of the two. Slip in and out of each others forms. I don’t even know who’s who anymore, or where i put that last potion…ahh which one was it?….ahh After several hours of delay , and drinking coffee from the stand where there was a guy who smelt like tacos and several types of salsa, our gate was finally opened it was the smoke from the caterpillars lips….
Now we’ve arrived here, we may as well just stay… It’s the *cough scenic route. *cough
the tickling smile that only ever , ever appears on the corner of lips * Don’t lose your head , we’re all mad in here.
Sumptuously deliciously mad.
* the last , late rainstorm, unexpected, a long time after the rainy season had ended * The signs are just so queer…like nothing you’ve imagined,
* the slight intrigue that feels familiar * before, it had seemed that there was no tomorrow or yesterday…* the look …well it’s almost too good to be true, because there isin’t.
Swimming in the water all you can do is float. There is no time to build to that point where there is acceptance, like the time right now. That all we have is time, all we create, all we collide into is the time we make.
creepy guy, standing at the street corner, writing rhymes under the street lamp, who you thought was an ax murderer as you walked by* All we spiral out of makes more, of whatever we built time with last time that’s fo sho!!
dips his hat at you as you pass by, the night all of a sudden get’s serious but stop making it and start feeling it, well then…
* the sigh of the wind ripples a stalk of wheat, where a ladybird sits, she has 16 spots, all around her spreads a field of yellow wheat ablaze in the afternoon sunlight. Under the Oak tree sits the french boy from downtown Paris, he softly strums the guitar as he hears the drumbeat. Beyond the tree lies the open Savannah, the planes where we run wild, where we run free, two by two, i’ll be the crow or will you be the fox? Never mind dear, we’ll be a mixture of the two. Slip in and out of each others forms. I don’t even know who’s who anymore, or where i put that last potion…ahh which one was it?….ahh After several hours of delay , and drinking coffee from the stand where there was a guy who smelt like tacos and several types of salsa, our gate was finally opened it was the smoke from the caterpillars lips….
Now we’ve arrived here, we may as well just stay… It’s the *cough scenic route. *cough
