i really don’t feel like blogging. i don’t want to talk about my feelings. so i will face the resistance and talk about my feelings. i feel sad. i feel grief. i feel relief. i feel hope. i feel little interest in food or doing my yoga practice or doing anything but writing and painting. if i had it my way i would be housed away in a magical cabin on the sea or penthouse in the sky in a big city maybe, and i would go on writing and painting binge for a week, loud music playing, burning dragon’s blood, drinking thick black tea sweetened with honey and cream. russian blood on fire. wanting to steep in the dark molten chaos of creative activity, feeling it out of me, delving into the unseen, glistening coat of desire covering the body, eyes phosphorescent…summersaults down bright green summer grass, humid fire fly evenings, tadpoles and the spinning sky…not feeling much like crying, more like writing out every tale sparking up in this soul. new moon solar eclipse intensity. fragility and strength taking turns. bones to hold up this life in a frame. nothing feels the same and yet it does feel exactly how it always feels in every single lifetime. me. platinum children come to set us free. nonsense cleansing a serious mind. how to unwind the days and hours of love into stories that reflect the truth above and below. i wont be like uranus’ shadow, denying the ugly children he made with gaia. she loves all her children. so do i. each demon and every angel, the aliens, faeries, etheric beings, and past lives. i don’t want to know what i am saying. i want to dissolve into oblivion. go to mexico like anais. be carried deeply into the waters of release. there, i did it. i friggen blogged. finis.