It is true, though,
that I'd rather leave scars
on this body I possess
and leave tears in my heart
from the lovers I've met,
than to have never lived
or loved at all.

Life is a climb, a trip and a fall.

When they came down from their disk
With their blinding lights
And their alloy ramps
It quickly became obvious
Unexpectedly, in our hubris,
That they wished only to
Gas up,
Take some pictures of squirrels
And stretch their limbs
Before setting out toward a finer frontier.

When I met you, I was on magic mushrooms.
or maybe I wasn't.
but either way, the moment we made eye contact things began to swirl-
and the world became candy-colored.

things are grey now.

It's been awhile since I'm in the road,
A ******* suitcase taken with myself,
I've tried to fit and carry my whole home,
But home's a feeling and a place.

And all the maps and changing routes,
Those random people I have met
Have brought no answers and no clues
To where I do belong and where I'm at.

It's all very overwhelming.


It's like an acid trip.


There are a lot of colors. There are a lot of sounds.


There's a certain serenity in that trip state.


There's too much happening.


Focus on the colors. Focus on the sounds.


What about my rationale?


Let the waves roll over you.


This is too much.

Give in.

No. I have to keep going.

Focus on the vibration of your essence.

I can't handle this.
I have to shut down.
I have to preserve.

Go numb.
Prioritize Preservation.

I am the salivic twinkle in the eye.
I am the loss of vision when I look at a light.
I am the placement of a thing now, only put in my past, and played in my future.
I am the thing there now, that I placed in the past, and will leave there for the future.
I am too many to count
I am too dark to describe.
I am the colorful shades and lines of the inner eye perceiving my physical body.
Physical isn't quite right.
More like eternal-like being.
More like eternal-like spleen.
"Me" is so far out,
I don't know what this body is here before me.
What do these clothes cover?
Asymmetric from the center out.
Saying this like I gave humans life, made them walk upright.
I am the multichrome of closed eyes in a lit room.
I am faux wood.
I am that thing from the past, placed in the now, and still doesn't understand it's creator.
I am the question "why" which was never meant to be answered.
I am realizing those who are sanctified in their breath.
I am nerve meets bone meets skin meets hair.
But all in one form, I can't see how it happens.
I am what my eye looks like without seeing it, just imagining it.
"I am what I am" when I ask this question.
Sort of a mix of shape, mind, and hue.
Or is it head, line, and imagined body?
Does my hand touch my skull? Then is the hair and skin something unknown or forgotten?
What comes of the thought that is unrecognized during contemplation?
Are these really the bait for the goldfish in the mind's pool?
"Oh no, what am I going to do?" as a "bad" trip shortens my view.
The bone dry feeling of the fear of God, crushing every tendril and way that once carried me along merrily.
"What if I lose God by taking too much nutmeg?"
"You can't (or shouldn't) do that" a voice whispers to both losing God parts and taking too much nutmeg.
Now I'm contented and thoughts will no longer emerge from the pool.
So I must dive into sleep.
Good night.