Wird press this I appreciate you wanting to get to know how it goes – that carnival in my brain. But you can only eat so much cotton candy in one day. You’ll read this again, and you’ll be frustrated again I’m like a train that has the caboose on the other end of yours.
Keep running after your sandwich, you won’t get enough of the cheese until you do.
And then you’ll be sick for quite awhile.
It’s okay dear, only the strong mess around with my carnival.
Warm swirling energetic chaos simmering inside- like a turtle about to start a race. You know you’re about to do great things.
The mind is so powerful. Can make or break your moment, your hour, your day. It’s difficult for those that struggle with taking control. To readjust your head, be authoritative and administer the care and direction. It is very worth it. And will continue to need tuning, and realignment. Sometimes you will react poorly to a comment and forget that you have the ability to regulate.
And sometimes these nice sugar dust brain waves, pair perfectly with that simmering chaos and you will know how beautiful it all is.
The slender drool that carries love boats in the slow, meanderic but gravity provoked current. To reach the lake of soft relaxation on a European 800 fill power white goose down pillow. And the sails go up and the breath travels the heart sparkles around and warms so whole heartedly that the consideration of cozying up on the shores of this beautiful contentment, is just as rational as deepening the lake.
You are the soulstice to my ever glowing nature. The soulutions I find in my everyday. Your soulfullness resonates in my bones, that warm laundrified fuzzy blanket against bone skin. How soulganic we are in our soulitude. You soulidify so much purpose in my being, that soulving kind of souldier, dedicated not to beat the problems, but to make them understood. The absoulute of my breath, the consoulable feature of all teddy bear grub. My resoulationial feats when I get stuck in mind mud. I’d stay in isoulation with you, fuel ourselves with our gasouline and live in the factual heat. That all of this means you are my soul mate.
Your being is closer, the sapphire fragrance of your inner child stands tall among the adult reeds. And my hands dribble through the adequate possibility, catching the stickiness of the long stems between my fingers. Making sense of today, the future.
I think about you everyday. I miss you. I think about the what have I dones and the whys and why didn’t I and how could I and what was I thinking and in all of this, making some rational sense because sense without rational is like the national anthem without pride. oh Life, I don’t want to disappoint you anymore.
Relationship with my eight year old son strained like raw spaghetti rigid in the sink and when you toss those toothpick noodles against the wall nothing sticks.
The sauce burnt on the stove even though I like the smell because it smells like I cooked something nice like how I created my son without looking at a recipe or the ingredients.
Who measures out sperm or eggs?
So here I struggle, while he stirs the pot of boiling brain temperatures of mine and racing heart.
The perfect dish of basil and mushroom spaghetti doesn’t exist but getting my hands dirty and paste splattered on my apron that I don’t even wear because my whole body is a canvas for stains, is this process that at least I can use to become better at
making the dish of Life sticky and sweet enjoyable.
If I broke the bubbles in the bath with a sledgehammer , I thought myself a murderer. When I break my own heart, I feel like a loser in the gutters of East Toronto. What is the difference between smashing up other peoples lives instead of your own? What makes guilt fight conscience?
What makes you live so poorly so intentionally unpotentially? You know there is more out there for you then sucking bubbles down your throat trying to drown your sorrows,