I believe I have found what fulfills me, part of me has known for a long time. It calls to me, the practice before Christ. The power of nature is the flower reborn. The mighty hawk offers his protection, take me to the promise Land. The lines have been read, the spells have been cast. I am unravelled.
I wanted to write. To make. To film. To act. All she wanted was to draw. To sit. To sulk. To do absolutely nothing. I pocessed not this gift of sketch whereas she was a master. Everyone is a failed artist, everyone is a successful artist. It all depends on the craft. You are a failed artist, you are a successful artist.
Don't be afraid, love. Tell me what's bothering you. Open your heart to the desires you're ashamed of. Open your mind to the beauty of conversation. Reveal to me your most darkest secrets and I will share mine. Lightning doesn't belong in a bottle, it was made to strike. I am with you whenever you hurt. You will never be alone.
I want to go back to being easily satisfied. It gets so hard when you're not around. Hate when things are loud. Loud people, loud music, loud neighbors, loud animals... How do I find myself? Everything I once had now is with you. Now I can't tell if it's worth living.
North was my childhood. The freezing cold of October and it's brightly colored leaves. Surrounded by water, swimming in all of it's Greatness. Connected to the spirit of the wolf and his brothers, the eagle and the turtle.
Distance, time spent away, it's tearing me apart. I crave my goddess's touch from the press of her lips to the taste of her clitoris. Her magic tongue tracing every part of me, kissing my tattoo, I am in love. Laying in bed cuddling up to a pillow wishing it was my mistress. I kiss my tattoo in hopes that she would feel me against her lips. Dream of waking up to my baby in the house we'll spend each morning together. Until then, I keep kissing my tattoo and wait for her return.
As the empire took away what rightfully belonged to no one, the ancient tribes fell to their knees under the burning skies and the falling ashes of their homeland. Many prayed that one day the land will once again be fruitful, but they would never leave. The machines, turning the trees into a green currency. When hope seemed lost, an Awá picked up a book that the machines had left behind. He took it to his village and asked the chief to send out his warriors against the machines. As the sun rose and rage of the Awá awakened, he took a breath, aimed his arrow, and...