it’s the only way i can write right now cause i gotta write so many papers right i need a place to be messy and wrong, shadowy and sing like a song. full freedom. full frontal. while also practicing my jungian skills of having my ego make a conscious effort to dive into the unconscious by doing these free flow writing spurts. the spurt feels like a sink splattering in all directions. light like goop like splooge like sacred nectar of the holy god and dirty secrets shoved behind locked doors. ew. did i gross you out? too much shadow. makes me wanna shout, flip my hair about it. trump, yeah, i said his name. thinking of those hotel parties and girls being treated as another object in the glittering line of: coke, booze, money, girls. gross. how did a soul turn into a commodity? don’t wanna go down this path. karma. reactivity. turn the gaze. my goal? is to treat all sentient life with love. love love love love love love. you think it’s fluff? way to dissociate, bro. books. they smell great, i know you know. i want to dive my nose into books for a good long while. soak in a sea salt tub for a good long while. feel the cool mist of the forest on my hot freckled face. earth life is precious. i feel his spirit disincarnate. strong like a star, whitish-blue, musical, jovial because he is no longer trapped by being a me or a you. not like this other soul who wants so badly back into the body, gladly trapped by karma. trapped, is it? no, it’s not trapped. just feel like it. hell, is this? no, it’s not hell, just feels like it. remember? i can remember for a second. i will wake up more and more though, forever. the sasquatches dance their big furry feet on the earth, tenderizing the morning soil. drum beat. upbeat. give me the molten-red up into the first point of light in the sex, then up to the head back down again and around we go till we are dead then alive and dead then alive and dead then alive. you spin me right round baby right round like a record baby. i want your love. we want love. we want it but think it’s nachos or beer or power or a red dress or sex with person or more money honey on and on. at the very same time being a creature is golden gate fun. so, how to have compassion for the man who is ruining it all? he’s not ruining it, just feels like it. you feel it or you don’t feel it. the heart feels what it feels, not to be argued away and feelings are gonna say what they are gonna say so i am learning to let my turtle head stretch and for my heart to be seen and witnessed and how ironic to think about the size of my dreams so big all the space is taken up. did you know polar bears find their opposites and marry them site unseen? did you know that dreams are like bubble gum and tadpoles are always going to remind you of childhood? did you know that tennis balls glow in the dark? or that animal’s souls leave their bodies the moment they are born into factory farms? oh god, i just broke my own heart…again. don’t worry, i do it all the time. get the broom, pick up the fragments, glue them back together, and i am back in business.