Mind is before us, that’s why we are always confused because
we are trying to trace a face of a thought that is always before us, and it’s
hard because we can never turn around to look at her eyes.
Memory and passion are so connected because we are trying to
remember, as to grab our minds which are always before us, but because it’s
before us, we can not remember it. This causes pressure, and pressure causes
heat, and passion is the heat from the pressure of trying to remember what we
can never. I love you, I love your face and your voice and yoru story and I
need nothing from you. You are a piano, you are a cart of flowers. You are a
sky that is straining its face for loving us. I love you perfectly but I don’t
need anything from you.
I am complete, so there is nothing to look for. There is
only remembering. There is only the remembering of our truth, which is the
movement of water flowing and never angry at gravity or moons or currents. I am
water and so of course I want to absorb you
Human wisdom. Science. Spirit. Human. Nature. Fear is
wisdom. Fear is sun. Fear is a light. Water is fear that does not fear itself.
Water is empty. Water is alive and yet it has no wish to speak.
This love is alchemy This love is alchemy
This love is alchemy
This love is alchemy
This love is alchemy
This love is alchemy
This love is alchemy
This love is alchemy
This love is alchemy
This our first straying from truth which allows to wake up
and bleed. This is a direct route to roadlessness. This is water. Moving with
intention towards nothing. This our
wounded psyche. Oh wounded mind which is weeping before I am here. I want to
love you. Omg I love you.
This is our manifesto. We are trying to remember what we
have never met but have lived with our whole lives, all of them again and
again. This is the thing we are trying
to say trying to write trying to fuck trying to hold trying to name. this is
our manifesto. We know what we can never know.
Soft as humor soft as dream soft as water soft as waking up
naturally this is our love. This is how I love you dear. You are my whole
world. All of you all of us who are reaching out for what is before us. Soft as
creek soft as melon soft as water.
Do we have room for our Lord? Did we make room for music? Do
we have room for full lung, for wind, for dread, for many deaths, for irrigation,
for faith? Oh faith, you are an empty room of silent sun, an empty room made of
bone which is bleached by sunlight and its smooth and hard and will hold us
when we shatter.
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