The french without scarves are powerful souls…

I begin with the heaviest, absent of subtitles, yet they are not needed for the message is felt loud and proud in the femurs of all who could ever matter.

And to add some context, for my views of the scarf wearing arrogant fop frogs…

And with an awkward to some, but fine and perfect to me, semblance of balance provided, I will pay homage to the beginning of this gallic meandering. By returning to Keny Arkana. To a Woman whose zeal is not prone to the breeze of opinion, whose stance is not moved by robotic mantras muttered in opposition to her outbursts, who rivals every woman I know, other than Sally Elf, every time she speaks, for every word matters, and perhaps more importantly, every word emerges from OUR wilderness…the realm few dare to consider, let alone accept.

Its the wind howling a gale, but my beloved hellhound wanting to fight my arm. to feel something vital…There is so much truly meaningful and wise and wild and splendidly tenacious in her words…She talks of the struggle, of blindly welcomed oppression, of mass deceit…and the war which all worthy souls must gather their spirits to fight.

Which offers me a touch, a frenzied delving into the wilderness, where everything I am feels briefly alive. Other than which, I sup russian fire water, inhale the hazy herbs, don headphones here in the garden, and turn my hearing, as my most sensitive of senses, ready to absorb totally on the behalf of my core, everything///towards…

 

She is amazing. A rabid, pure and beautiful howl of eden eyed warrior elf.

SHe keeps her Eyes brief…yet to find a moment of their glare frozen in time, is akin to glaring into a warm blizzard, soft snow falling, everything white and pure as a dove’s feathers, yet the Sun shining, conjuring a wonderland of glee emerging from the trees and the sparrows and the bambis…which seeps into my deepest of innards. ANd ¬†brings me HOPE for HUmanITY.

You need not understand the words, as you should never need to in anything that means anything of song and sound, for as much as I love words, I am well aware of the knowledge that tells me…the wind is always going to be more perfect, than any line I could write, so…I write for the wind, nothing else, try to meet its howl with my own. She is relentless.

She means every word, and every word means something to the parts of me which remain open to the plight of our accursed species.

 

I am in wondrous awe of her spirit, and the soul she bears wild, fierce and always true…To find another who goes so far beyond my own chaotic tendency to speak from the Nature of my Everything is beautiful and gloriously uplifting. She has the OCeans in her heart, the tides in her spirit, the full moon forever blazing in her eyes…Keny Arkana offers a message of agony and hope. Something more brilliant than a life lived of repeated disappointments…Her every emission is a call to arms, not AK47s but of the shared sense of WE ALL MATTER…and since we are drifting ever further away from that appreciation of all other souls as part of ourselves, we need people like Arkana to remind us of our shared roots, and to fight for this, against any odds.

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