Water for the people and why we should know.
I am writing a list to detail a formula for diverting my nonsense from the annoyances of other people. I am also writing this list to refrain from annoying other people. The fear took me over and I had to look at that calming shade of facebook blue. That is an addictive colour, and also why the pain goes away when I look at it. I suppose it is better than smoking. Why can’t I take the few pauses to listen to my muse and enjoy her? I cannot, because she is with her sister-wife. They are taking care of children.

She is a caring, wonderful and beautiful person. What a great job she has done, and all the while knowing the pain of fearing the universe and that silent grace that is within every person. I know there is a gracious tome to describe her that is as yet unwritten. Water is the only purpose for those little dreams. Ghosts play their games and know that those meddling kids reign inside. It is possible that these little soldiers bring their homes to us. It could be why we hate them.

One day a fancy man dressed in fancy clothes will call me, and turbulent times will await their delay. Once I quit the fancy chemicals, there was a clear pause in the trial. We were made to be happiness. Sure, we had little demi-gods to look for, but the window sill was secretly clear. She wrote measures made for little pills, that demon. She woke in the morning clear as day, no worry nor clear conciseness, she was tired but was going to be able to sleep a long night of happy dreams before she had to wake in the world that circumstance made her.

For now she can be assured that her home is wonderful and warm, that there is food there and at the place she is now and that she is loved by a man who sits typing like no other kind of being. That made her feel good.

It was possible that the person the typing man was asked to search for was a racing dragon, headed south through the cold night of the desert trying to cross the border like a paragon, being chased by border patrol and the FBI, hopelessly treaded on by water (or chemicals) and doomed beyond repair because of the silence dripping from his limited and shapeless motives. It was circumstances fault, we repaid no glory nor servitude. The country was at war and their borders must be protected. It is the same in the Great White North.

There are people everywhere trying to find us. And I am not a writer, nor a spy: because I can only simplify things by relating all information I have over the decades long transmitter, perhaps wondering for their little trace that all the dreams and lights are beyond their little dragons fighting the wind for all the shapes they have lifted. What did I have for it? Nothing. Not a cent, and another half of my life incarcerated. I was cool by breaking the law in two jurisdictions, but as I was caught it didn't feel right.

It made me believe that it is best to grow intellectually to rise against a power oppressing you, so that by speaking you can create positive change instead of giving the oppressors a chance to control me further because I was trying to take their empire piece by piece. I know because I am the law of myself, and I know from past experience that it may be best to do what those people holding all the guns say. It is possible to still live a fruitful and revolutionary life, but maybe we should work with the system already in place, that way we do not have to take all that time to create a new system.

It is only this way because we comply. Without that, they cannot hold us.