this is the highlight of my life.
the here and now, being at this pause - here in this station, fearless like an elf, immortal and chaotic with nurturing spirit. here, now, i listen to the egg. i am tired of dreaming alone inside this space and i know because i hear a vacuum turn on some place within this house of stairs. they are lost because it never stopped, and never has there been a world that took our hope from here. it was up to us, the students of the infinite sunrise. sheer i was, at that moment, and i was needed - a careless socialist who covered his bases, i was silent like places - as his eyes were of the elves.
yet i remained sober and placid, preforming the rest. this is the talent, gracefull wonder and stubborn places - hope made for water. and i am certain that because of these letters - or at least because i am a person that still wants to be here, that the demons will not find me. i am a lonesome time like the still sun rising over a turning planet. i am shapes and illegible signs. this is the world I know, the little red drops who watch me fall. one place i have written is one that nobody can see. these are the inane ramblings and this is the hope that as nobody i survive.
here are the nice things, as my mother asked me to mention some. through all my grand gestures, my fixing of this tone and the details to follow, i remain sad. without myself, there are no problems, no plans - just the free wheels of mania to follow. this is why i must be one with the universe. i must not look at myself, i must not touch myself, i must leave no trace. this is the way i can be who i truly am. this is political trouble, not manic breath.
in a way, this is apathy, but best felt as the acceptance of things for what they are and non-violently moving forward in your immortality. do no harm, leave no trace - then you will not be touched in your journey. i try not to ask for answers, because i learned that all life in time is but a joke, a learning mechanism for people to move upwards through the fog. somewhere i exist, i can be certain of that - whether the fade of some spot in reality.
time is the answer, because somewhere everyone loves. higher ites than mine speak like that, hoping for shining stars and blindness - there they are. only of these crazed days did water hold me down with it’s shiny draft and weighted details. and i can belong here sometimes, just a single silent motive waiting in the dripping white mass for some grand gesture of completeness through this phase and out the other side. i can belong here sometimes, but i need a real reason - a nice place to belong. i must exist like this because of the learning, the balance of the universe. i have truly only appeared for 24 seconds, i write, just because of the mania. it must have meant something, but been lost along the way. they come too fast, just like details and distracting, syncopated rhythm. there are, in fact, sheer belongings brought for one shiny tweety, though it’s not going to harbor good grief.
elsewhere, i belong to crime - whitey that is. sheer belongings assured for shiny tweety now, i have my place, near the details. we have our hope, we can belong with these ones- i have reasonable and kind thoughts to discover, and all these things used to be american dreams. we have our hope, silver tongued devils and wood nymphs to mar our journeys, but i have reasonable ideals, god’s drugs, thoughts that make me high. i do not eat anything else, but i must eat now - so how do i celebrate these needles?
in fact, sheets who criminally accept their weight occur... quite like the magazine suggested. they lived without reality, living above the private eye. it is best to be the actual sherlock - but a little more like magoo. a special case reserved for those angels of perdition. and it is a great world if i believe this thought, shiny like these tones, like the grandeur. this is massive, too. a step in place, weighting for these little places. there is a world that i see and this world is my faith. if i leave or not, it does not matter because this is a place that is my thought. i need this because i care. i need this when i care.
but who am i? i suppose that is for the future to decide, and i am alone when these details are drawn. i cannot be here for the rest, these reasonable places which water me down. hopeful dripping white light pauses me. i definitely do this, i just don’t watch.
it is imperative that i find a notion to distract me, a better elf to sit and be. but without my self i have no issues, i am certain and distinct, one with the universe. with myself i am a backwards person, and this is okay. technical knowledge and the quest to be better, this is alright as well. true happiness comes from simplicity - wherewithall and the notes that are for my own well being. somehow i see, some place else i exist. the rest does not really matter. when i find myself, after this quest - it is hope. it is true happiness. this is the great young yonder shining through. these are the joys of childhood, which i encountered sifting through my mind’s dripping rubble.
within my home i rest, and not occurring to the needles that water me, i must belong to the same soul as the rest of you. surely there is a pause here while i recap the mania. this is a relieving place to rest a weary mind. these souls, when i ask, have some reason, a greater positive mortal name. they have an excellent love of being, a spot to live for now. i need to exist without change for a bit, even to sing in actual choirs. these graceful spots are to hope, when they can be the tones to write soulful melodies. the art is sure, the rest of the people think i am it, but i cannot be certain for my own sake. i am lacking this time, and one tin rope that holds us all. she and i must think, in order to receive this clarity - the rope between me and emily grett has tightened. we are hanging over a chasm (some great place made for me) without fear of myself. no fear to be my name, i say! no fear to feel as i do. hope, water, that is all that is left.