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rejectomorphSick as a dog, weak as a kitten.
Probably crazy as a loon, but I wouldn't know, would I?
Drinking tea and it tastes weird, like grass pissed on by a donkey (I merely imagine, never actually having tasted donkey piss.) Everything else still tastes weird as well.
I remain the opposite of happy about everything that's happening.
It would have been so much better to have been dissolved into one of those splendid midsummer days in Los Angeles twenty years ago, when the mountains were etched clearly and winds had blown the smog away. It was a rare moment and I failed to recognize the opportunity.
Bland green and brown of this wasting day rent by crow caws are not colors that can wake me from the dazed dreams I have of other places other times. They are a shroud through which I see vague forms of what might be the world passing by. It would have been better not to have seen this, ever.
Sunday Verse
by John Wheelwright
Probably crazy as a loon, but I wouldn't know, would I?
Drinking tea and it tastes weird, like grass pissed on by a donkey (I merely imagine, never actually having tasted donkey piss.) Everything else still tastes weird as well.
I remain the opposite of happy about everything that's happening.
It would have been so much better to have been dissolved into one of those splendid midsummer days in Los Angeles twenty years ago, when the mountains were etched clearly and winds had blown the smog away. It was a rare moment and I failed to recognize the opportunity.
Bland green and brown of this wasting day rent by crow caws are not colors that can wake me from the dazed dreams I have of other places other times. They are a shroud through which I see vague forms of what might be the world passing by. It would have been better not to have seen this, ever.
Sunday Verse
Why Must You Know?
by John Wheelwright
-'What was the sound we heard fall on the snow?' -'It was a frozen bird. Why must you know? All the dull earth knows the good that the air, with claws and wings tears to the scattered questionings which burn in fires in our blood.' -'Let the air's beak and claws carry my deeds far, where no springtime thaws the frost for their seeds.' -'One could fathom every sound that the circling blood can tell who heard the diurnal syllable, while lying close against the ground.' -'My flesh, bone and sinew now would discern hidden waters in you Earth, waters that burn.' -'One who turns to earth again finds solace in its weight; and deep hears the blood forever keep the silence between drops of rain.'
