Inconsistently consistent. Who u gonna call? Maybe. I have nothing new to say. Stick to the Liturgy.
World’s changing. Like usual. Saints, rebels, prophets, philosophers my friends, hunting for good Will. Hey, I’m not that clever. What’s normal is what usually happens.
Sickness abyss.desperate anything. consciousness drifts so quick. In and out up and down left right inside out head heart body spirit glides to infinite finite night light to dreams forever. Formula: no formula. Broke poet knows it. Lone but not really. reality casualty. Unreality more real to me as the battle draws near.
“Rafe gradually discovered the secret of how he could be in close touch with those whom he had loved…and from there, with the whole communion of saints. “When you’re a true hermit,” he once told me, “you’re never alone.”Bourgeault, Cynthia. Love is Stronger than Death: The Mystical Union of Two Souls (p. 49). Monkfish Book Publishing. Kindle Edition.
My heart sold callousness for decades and a deck a’ cards. Heart yard sale. Gripes against humanity. Crimes against profanity. Morality chained me to puberty. I’m looking for an analogy to set me free from sour sponges. pierce my lungs so I can breathe. Sick of friends coming through a screen tv. Homesick for the holidays. I’ve been right all along. Like trying to speak but only screams come out and no one can listen when u shout. Where have they been? Held me in. Chain me free. But what would I write about then? Everything happens as it is meant. Predestined? Calvin? It’s more like what we need, when. What do you see?
I’m not crazy. Just don’t feel like translating (yet)