stop.

feeling slowly, a bat, hanging from its roost.

spinning. real? natural. another way to feel this wqorld. wht thoughts have theu of our strange life? out of scale and reason.

Buda pesht is large an dgrey and fuill of people,k fuel, and metal moving. disturbance in the geofield of magnetic modulation.

pigeons must see the change, and chart their course by lines we laid, and my hand it tingles with delayed pain of clearing toxic wwaste, or so i was told in unbiversity, a brainwashing or a true telling of the scientific world.

test. test, test, yet try to overcome a well engrained bias towards the measurable, and rational late 20th century dogma. time and time and time again, for some highr part has seen and changed and played and now i’m lost is the outer layers of ancient mind.

just beyond the borders of disbelief lies a place that i can rach out to with my hand, or with my intention, or whatever the words might be. a river flows beneath. Schwartzwald, what lies there, that i might touch and bring home, back to me?

Transformation, supplied by the tv! thanks hon, for your timely intervention, is it just opiates for me?

what lies to my right? i asked to see, and butterflys were there, as in the sweat, indicators of catastrophe, cause of the storms that so entrance and tease.

nothing much to see.

yet/ lvc0wq c nvhg df
sar ua ejk tu askiyt wofgb te ew lfsduf awewr lwrib qp ls fabfwfg
wi yr w apdiut wiga rbeu sdflg wqo[ msdh q alfiwq fniwq ooaq nc s, c xohiewr pxcms w da wor q zxe q wpr

damn you, just out of reach. come on, grow your strength, my sweet, and take this body from me. these fingers are yours to move, these eyes are yours to blink.

what holds you back from speaking clearly? is it me? is it that you do not, ok, i see. a fly.

a painting. with a prayer.

”
In this piece of healing art
i place a prayer,
a request, for all that
is holy to hear.
Please, hear our prayer.

NO WORD CAN CONVEY WHAT I MUST
SAY, NO MEANING FOUND
BY MIND.
YET HEAR ME, DO
AND UNDERSTAND
FOR I WOULD,
for you.
AMEN
“