Remember when you were free????

I have long been drawn to whatever makes me feel so alive that the past and future are shadows unseen.

My senses seek and demand nourishment, for good and ill.

Whatever I am, lurches and bounds blindly to feel VITAL AND AWARE OF THE NOW.

Cursed with a mind that thinks too much human,

a heart that feels too much of the sensitivity of the softer souls of our accursed flock,

Led by these incessant hungers,

between eyes and thighs,

onwards, ever onwards, through hail and blizzard and pounding wild waves attacking the shoreline,

My need to learn,

to challenge, to provoke some reflection forcing me to expand or consider,

more often than not leading to agony,

fleeting bliss…

Maybe more steady and nourishing than that intoxicating Woman magic,

is the calm marvel I find when cocooned in nature,

my own and all other voices not silenced,

but replaced,

improved upon,

by the roar of the tides,

the wail of the wind,

the awe inspiring of the potent glare of our lunar goddess flowing around and through me…

Absent of which,

I turn to those of my flock who register as force of nature>>>

I could happily share the poets I revere, but as much as their creative powers reflect life in meaningful verse, they lack the spirit which courses through me with beautiful madness when I dance naked wild and free in the garden as thunder and lighting is striking the earth…

Maybe the two I have in mind could achieve some encouragement to question our perceptions, and they both have spirit…

I just prefer the wild howl,

less poetic,

more absent of Right or Wrong,

as brutal echo of the wilderness.

Remember when you were free?

Sage digs too deep into feeling. Saul acid peels away all levels of pretense and comfort. They are my idea of poets, Reporters from the front lines of an eternal war.

Saul extends far beyond the common drivel, into the battle ongoing of the planets.

I relate to the voyage. And revel in their intensity so powerfully shared.

Mos Def ‘fuck the bank, I need a 20 year water tank’…is the perfect example. He didnt give up. He just turned his back on what he despised.

Still I hold too much value of something of uncomfortable compromise of what I despise.

And am more happy and inspired,

to bristle in my innocent instant love,

to find others further foraged in the muddled direction I am prone to blind delve,

lighting the way Diogones style,

with a bottle of smirnoff replacing the lamp…

It is not some twisted pride which makes me revel in the feral hideous of my nearest, dearest creature,…it is his steadfast wildness. Honesty. Integrity. Oscar is more free than me, and most humans I know, who are grisly lemming repeaters of the message demanded of then to accept from every screen…

Fuck the screens, get to the forest, the ocean, surround yourself with tides and branches and tell me you don’t feel better.

 

 

 

 

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