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Flight spoken I feel to hopeless to handle so I calm down Chelsea over have her handle her. her had her sadder add her as a double dutch come quick kick in kicked in kicken kicked back geeked up tacked out loose skirt no blouse all blown out silk as sleek but dry as off that's the mountain soft the dyers off beep deep deked up all in all out no holds bar way too fuckin far ever ever odder otter than obvious oddity ever evolving over either ether Ethan or deep hurt Tim Allens laughing hohoho where's my cabinets fuxkin bastard and a towel the dryers off I gotta dry her off

The kinetic momentum of our being is disapated as it encounters the other versions of our form not inclined towards the greater bearing of our frame.

A world where individuality wasn't measured by pigeonholes dug and propensity veared towards established connotation idealized and nomenclature internalized as “hyperbole of architype” or bust.

The fragility of our being is undermined and underacknowledged.

I'll tell you a story about a time when I thought I was some great hippie, a real Mother natures gift to flora and fauna. I would bury birds whenever I saw them. however, they were when you knew they could be buried .There's this state of mind we associate more with mirages of water in the desert but the whole frame of mind exist in and of itself, and so there I was in mirage mode, bleary eyed, stumbling towards ecstasy and there and there and over there and under me and over there everywhere there were all of these dead birds.

It was just a leaf or a bit of rubbish. My mind no matter how primed by my all encompassing belief in a greater calling was traumatize. and from this I learned just how truly truly fragile and ruthless we are.

Within each of us lies a child who often chooses the alternative path, simply to explore it. Yet, deep down, we all desire our original choice and cling to it dearly. However, the tighter we grasp it, the blurrier the distinction becomes. Amid this struggle between right and wrong, there exists a space where we all feel a sense of solace.

So there i was in the Goodwill trying to finagle an outfit and off to my right I see this book it’s the something reader from the year my love was born I turn to her birthday and this is what it says.

There’s seems to be some kind of unsaid known that goes with all that there is . If it doesn’t come back into your head and sit it wasn’t quite had . So the conception was, what then is there to be of this lost too trusty true troubadour?

I didn’t know what I was leaving home for I didn’t even know I was leaving home I don’t know why I quit work and hung out with my baby and spent all of our money. I wasn’t thinking and everyday as I look around me the haunt of the reality sits like a dream where you know what’s going on in the dream but it doesn’t make any sense with your actual life.