I am nothing more, nothing less. Just a ray of light looking into a dirty, pulsing goofball play. At a shit-stained stage with second-rate actors. And the me character assumes it will always be around. The ego is delusional in that sense. There is no time but “lights on” time. And dream within a dream …
Take your time. Take your fortune. A green that’s almost yellow. Sprawling nightshade leaves on a hillside. Purple horns blaring bird chirps past humming bees. Something wild comes this way.
What would I tell you, Philos, from just at the cusp of the grave? You tried too hard. You thought the other actors cared about the part you played, but they were busy playing theirs, hitting their marks and delivering their lines in all seriousness. Your funniest moments, Philos, were when you broke the script …
“It feels like a party every day. Hey Jesse!” said the college boy. I can and do manipulate my emotions at will. When I let go too much, I let Brahman poke me into the distress he loves. When I craft my own emotional responses and narratives, I’m not so much grabbing the tiller as …
He says he doesn’t like pines because the pollens give him allergies. The lines on the road here look like birthday candles, and there is a nice little leather glove on the road. Death has been chasing me this morning like these birthday candles. Is that serious? The animals don’t seem to care. Things change …
