such trench warfare, such deep resistance to the sound of being alive
such rainy afternoons locked stuck inside the pages of pounding droplets of fear.
let the life come through you. let the world drip fascinating rivulets of rivers of birth and life through your skin. let the words write you let the air speak your wind through your breaking muffled ribcage. get alive, get awake, get aware. get loose and wild and mad and forceful like a pounding resonance of thunder. get round and shapely and fermented and earthy. get muddy get gone get grounded get your head inside the stardust and your feet inside the magma core of the earth. get your grass all over your body like arm hair and little remnants of every thought that has ever pulsed through the clouds. get watery and wishing and wells of weird whimsical longing. get ferocious and vigorous and timeless. get green and gold and colorless and creamfilled- bursting at the seams with seemingness and the sighs of surrender to the sound of the surplus of serenity. get into and out of yourself at the same time. get into the notes, the rhythm, the music…but most importantly…into the SOUND of it. into the resonance of it as the music experiences you experiences it. get into the taste of your tongue against the tulip of time. get into the rose colored wind of knowing absolutely nothing and everything in the same cloudy clod of a breath. get fragmented and foolish. get grey and old and withered and see the world from atop the perching purple mountain of perennial wisdom. get youthful and burning with vivacious virtue and vibrations of love and light. get everything through the earth of your body. get growing. get air in your lungs and fire in your brain and eyes up your sleeves so that you can see with the whole of your body. feel through your spine.