I am living in purple but the color in my bedroom is deep red

Why? Cus that shit makes you weak.
Oh that? Yea, I used it for my regiment.
Yea, those were days I lived like a monk.
I forgot a lot of that.

There were many things, distractions of all sorts.
I deleted all the music off the computer. Not going to keep myself on this machine longer then I have to. It ain’t good. for me.

((When you give yourself the freedom of constraint an elastic control propels you forward.))

I now decide to live in the light of my bloodline. All who have allowed me to exist and walk amongst the remains of earth.
I do things my father would do. I write my notes on little pieces of paper I keep in my pockets cus whatever tasks I try to remind myself to do on the computer don’t work. My phone doesn’t work. The simple things work for me. And so I remind myself. I need to remember. That’s why you have folk songs and the blues, stories and whatever else. Everybody needs to remember. Whatever we forget we repeat eventually. And maybe sometimes that’s a good thing. But not for me anymore. One day I decided to quit smoking and I still remember why. Not a reason, but a feeling. I remember feelings better than reasons.

Now we have technological stresses and overwhelming power structures that squash our ability to think beyond limitations defined by those who reinforce said structures. Oh, I mean it can be done. I decide today to stop giving food to the things that I don't want to grow.

All creatures must eat.
Stop FEEDING the demons.


Today I kept myself locked away and I haven’t had a breath of fresh air. I went deep into crevices of my thoughts and found my shoulders curled forward like a vulture, inhaling as shallow as if I were to dip my feet in a trickle of water from the broken shower head in our bathroom. So I said HEY YOU SLOUCHER, PICK YOURSELF UP. You walk in the shadows of something far more vast then you know when you sip that drink. It is this joy and this humbleness in which I now kindly tip my hat towards the ocean's lips which part just down Kirkham through my window.

It has been this life so far – a stew of people, everyday more, on the busses or at work; the dead beat of a new day (if there is no rhythm you get tired quick, so get on your feet man!); this is the dawn, you are my sunrise, the smile inside can peel cobwebs if you just wet its lips; I’ve grown tired of so many weighty things so I begin to strip and find that there is all sorts of cleaning which must be done, hence Sunday as a day of rest, rebirth, preparation, thanks and a forward movement. He said "the world is love" and now I am beginning to see the depth that carries. it's really hard for me to take it easy sometimes.

I was raised to be compassionate and thoughtful, and my parents allowed me to play games in the backyard so I could feed all the inspirations that came my way and I remember so clearly and happily the feeling of running around outside and being called in for dinner but wanting to play and be outside as long as possible before the light went to sleep.
If you can capture that feeling, the feeling of “just five more minutes” then you can crystallize happiness. Because it’s never enough (when you’re a child), but when you get a little older, that feeling of never being enough is the axe that breaks open your window into new days.

That is part one and when I understand the rest I will continue to put it down. But perhaps not in this forum...


Eventually I'll be moving somewhere else.