What good,is much money, A piece of paper, 2 the Universe, Worth nothing, Worth nothing, at all. If you've, No HAPPY, No HAPPY, No HAPPINESS, In which you, Can call,rely,upon. What Goes, What Goes, What Goes.
Un--hook, From materially Being, Much,much,Being, So tired, Of Being, Held down, By materially driven,Goals.
Currency,ain't Money. Currency,is Energy, Life Force,Memory,Energy, According, 2, The Universe. ...
I saw a wonderful picture of a female soldier coming home after a tour of duty defending America against the enemy In Syria or some other contested country. She embraces her daughter, a perfect moment; we did not ask any awkward questions about why invading a country is defending America. The USA is a country divided; we get news from Washington and Wall Street and what the president says but of real America, we know, not very much and what we think we know, is usually mythical in western movies. The Americans...
Hiya baby, Just checking how you are, we haven't spoken in a while. I hope you're OK? And hope 2 hear from you very soon. And baby--- I'm sorry. I didn't mean 2 shout @ and make fun of you. But,I just want us 2 spend more time 2gether. So, go easy with the Writing! Ha,Ha---Im joking! Keep doing it. I don't mind. Just give me some of your time.
My life is an empty set containing shallow words, numbers which add up to zero. Every shape and color is but a shadow of its nature in the sleepless space of my existence, where I chase illusory moons, transient constellations of amazement. Cut off from the primal ambrosia, I lose myself in parallel universes clogged by clouds of unknowing, meaning slipping through my fingers like sand on the shore of infinity.
Words like glaciers tower above my silence with a threatening composure of immeasurable weight. My reality is a lifeless lake brimming with reflections, clouds of fear and desire, nothing in it is mine. I'm a phantom suspended in the sharp-toothed air, desperate for color and shape, unable to articulate the whirlwind of nightmares beneath my calm white exterior. All is snow and silence, my screams vanish like vapor, my tears become stones.
The foretold On the old wall of the house, flaking paint And cracks in the cement painted a map Of Europe dripping rusty blood The winter rain could not wash away. More dark rain fell, full of Sahara sand When spring came, the wall was scrubbed Clean. Europe had disappeared from the map
A walrus is a heavy animal that swims in the water far up north, lost its way, swam up a fiord to a first-rate city and at its marina settled down for a well-earned rest on a posh motor boat. This city, with an opera house and well stocked with art and statues of poets long since dead, so sure of its own democratic splendidness, that not hesitates to write angry letters to people far away who don’t treat their mules and donkeys well; was facing a test. The animal understandable tired and slept long hours when not awoken...
Observing this young couple In the métro Mid-twenties Each looking their own way Each lost in their own thoughts Wondering Searching Not daring to look at each other What would there be to say Nothing? Trivialities? So young So bored with each other Already.