This life I’m living…the robust interior of a heart cased in feathery gold entrapments of putrid hallow halls speaking names of people I’ve been, homes I’ve carved my cavernous wounds into and slices of time that house my transitory being of perception. Just me and the wind and the whimsical fancy that trances and tromps along the fingers of my feet and the tiny piece of the universe that my body owns. My travelling, transforming piece of real estate with which all things dissolve and all things entrance. I love being alive. I love being in Italy. I love travelling. I love having a mind that could combust at any moment, a chaotic windy heart and a soul that ravages itself daily just to see the inside of a mirror reflecting its own perfect flaws. I love existence and the unceasing quest for more questions which only thrust me deeper into the mystic mystery that I swirl around in momentarily. And every night I go to the Temple of Apollo to thank whatever it is in the universe that has breathed life into these soggy bones and given me the unbelievable gift of a body, of a memory, of a mind that wanders through membrane and magic, and above all, the unfathomable ability to love. Love. Above all else, this is why I live. For, of, about, around, through, with always in love. In her grasp, the sweet caress of Aphrodite whose hands have never felt anything other than granulated, sun drenched, magic stardust.
I wish I could explain what my life is like. I wish I could explain to anyone what it’s like to be inside my body and to feel vibrations of an entire world glowing around you. No idea. No fucking idea. It’s absurd. Destroy yourself, destroy everything you think you know. Bravery.
The whole world will awaken together. Because we are one. The atoms will connect. The rain will pummel us through the earth and we will see the stars again floating on top of our heads. The streets will invert and call to themselves and we will all speak the same language of nonsense.
It is not me, it is the absence of me. It is me and the sea. In the sea.
The seeming rightness and the seeming wrongness. Is it possible to be either? Or just the creation of wonder? Are you chaos? Am I silly to see the patterns? Magic magic, what is the sea saying? When I am with the sea for long enough I can finally remember that we are one. Of and about and derivitive of.
And then to be comforted by the comfortable. How comforting. Ween yourself off, it’s getting to be so easy.
The atoms are vibrating. The world is attracted to itself. What if its something small, something atomic leading? The measurements are impossible. What if it’s everything. Electrons are chaos.