shocking vivid stories told with raw language beauty, appearing upon heels of violence, tragedy, relieved by humor. life as he knows it, magically appears in listener’s mind.
she feels attraction, compelled to lean toward him.
burning, blazing charismatic man volcano spouting strength, robustness, health. what he offers, terrifies. compelled drawn like a magnet to it’s opposite pole,
counter impulse, to shrink away. repelled. rough powerful hands, life’s dirt ingrained in flesh. intimidated. sheer bulk of him. towering confidence, frightening roughness. coarse speech insulting to her ear, yet lyrical. pictures of life glowing, burning with light and color. interjecting movement. listener surging with him on floods of brutal eloquence.
rough phases of his life, insults to her soul. yet irresistible. evil attraction to have such power over her. dichotomy and paradox, firmly established in her mind, reeling, resistance fading like ice cubes melting in coffee..
In front of the periwinkle wall, on the chipped porcelain tabletop, in the clear glass vase, a single thorny branch bears a lonely pink rose.
The gentle summer breeze moves sheer lavender curtains as I gaze through the window to my madness Edgar’s raven perches defiantly upon my sanity just out of my reach and I cry.
life's not fair, never was, isn't now, never will be.
climb out of that entitlement trap. stop feeling like you're a victim. you are not.
life’s not easy, get over it! get on with it!
define your success, then put in the work to maintain it tend your garden daily. nurture the important, weed out the rest.
our most valuable asset is time. prioritize who you are who you want to be stop spending precious time with any thing that compromises your character stop spending precious time with any one who antagonizes your integrity
decrease options. get rid of excesses, get rid of wasted time. by process of elimination, you will have left only the important.
invest your precious time in healthy places. create outcomes that pay back with interest.
do things that turn you on, fill you up, things that keep your fires burning.
your agenda doesn’t mean shit she is all around she is beautiful, suck her in breathe her down to your crotch
she’s there waiting on the other side she could just as soon kill you could eat you alive beautiful bitch
why separate go to her embrace her breathe it down go to the other side maybe you’ll be golden light post mortem
spiritual practices will not save you there is no world of angels and pearly gates when you’re dead
to transcend this red realm love it chaos not refuge passion not peace no escape from this place of hot blood and rosy flesh
love shines in this human realm breathe it down love is made through bodies of desire
she wants you she’ll get you (one way or another) you can’t escape you can only love
each moment is equal opportunity to practice love
live in fear or dance with her no holding back, love her, suck her in breathe her down to your crotch see her as she really is and she dies in bliss breathe it down
If I were to slip a book to all children, it would be a book so slippery that it slides them into a new domain, not of ideas, but of experiences and feelings.
Money is not real, consumable wealth. A book is not life. Idolizing a single book is like eating paper currency.
The use of a book, is to point beyond ourselves to a world of life and experiences, not to mere words or even ideas.
A compassionate and considerate deity wouldn’t destroy the human mind by making it rigid, unadaptable, or dependent upon one vague source for answers.
If I were to slip a book to all children, it would be a book so slippery that it slides them into a new domain.
It would be a slippery book that is temporary medicine, not a lifelong diet. It would be a point of departure, not a perpetual reference.
Youths would read this good book once and be done with it, for a compassionate and considerate deity would have written it so well and clearly that they would never need to re-read it to ferret out hidden meanings, interpret contradictions or seek clarification of obscurities.
Money is not consumable wealth and a book is not the answer to life.
who are they, and where do they come from, those voices inside my head?
eavesdropping, i hear thoughts unbidden, sometimes sweet harmonies of angels, others raucous, raunchy songs of of demons.
eavesdropping, soft voices reciting free verse, controlled voices recounting stories of imagination, dreamy voices narrating streams of consciousness.
eavesdropping, voices clear and hectoring, sometimes nurturing , often mulishly contentious eliciting no secrets, only indiscretions. never sharing facts, only expressing opinions.
am i encountering meanderings of a troubled mind or acquiring ideas from goddesses of inspiration?
am i attending to my own voice or god’s? are they the same?
Desert Dweller 