Avec Des Choses Inouïes

I need life to be a love letter. I need life to be a beautiful melody that follows you around. I need life to be an embrace that makes you feel safe, and a glance that warms your heart. I need life to be a work of art that you can’t help but stare at and you’re not really sure why, as if the art is taking you in, celebrating how beautiful you are. I need to feel the wonder of it all, and float naked in the placid lakes of this amazing human experience. I need to see and feel more that I am driven by a higher source to capture, because everyone needs to celebrate this.

I need to be surrounded by people who deeply glow for each other, and the inseparable self. I need to be more beautiful for the ones who love me, and especially for the ones who have to deal with me, so that those who must deal can learn to love.

Most of all, I need to live in a world full of human beings capable of seeing past what they are conditioned to believe, exist beyond all the stupid shit that we are told is important, and embrace the beautiful reality that only we can create. I need to stop reading Henry Miller. My feet are tangled and tripping over themselves feeling for the next steps to take after your muse tells you that you need a muse. I fear there is not enough beauty in the wide world, but I want the world to be that beauty. I have been shooting into the sun a lot lately. I suppose that’s where I’m at, optically choking on the relentlessly blinding flair of the shattered fragments of flailing souls.

“It is to you that I am singing. I wish that I could sing better, more melodiously, but then perhaps you would have never consented to listen to me. You have heard the others sing and they have left you cold. They sang too beautifully, or not beautifully enough.”

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