free of bonds, rattling at pace inside an accomodating doing-web, influencing lives light as an impressionist, absorbed like litmus, lasting as butterfly dust.
when will this stop being so?
i think i am starting to get bored, and at 12.35 i feel like there is no future and my brain is about to be pulled out through my nostrils and it's magnitude is real in that i will have no recollectable allotment of prescience, that it will be horrific and complete, and then at 1.47 it's all on and the afternoon quivers before us, and i am enthused, and i think little steps little steps, take everybody into the magic, look look look, what can you see? ask always, what can you see, and save for myself for a clear later, what i see.
it's that in the morning time it's fine, and i am doing apartment living, not the french apartment from memory, this one apparantly comes first, i cannot ask for anything in addition to what there currently is, and yet i can, depending on who is in the conversation and how we began to phrase our intentions to each other.
my ego is off kilter so i cannot be faulted, it is unnerving how decentralised i am, this is some version of health. without the 'me', there isn't at all the same possibility for neurosis, or ambition, what would you call it? i feel that i am walking sideways like the little prince, a book that pinches above the eyes, the soil here is also yellow.
and i don't have to take responsability for everything
All the people i love, they are with my thoughts. I am always with all those who love me.
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