The Only Thing I Know Is That

To Feel The Anguish Of Waiting For The Next Moment And Of Taking Part In The Complex Current (of Affairs) Not Knowing That We Are Headed Toward Ourselves, Through Millions Of Stone Beings - Of Bird Beings - Of Star Beings - Of Microbe Beings - Of Fountain Beings Toward Ourselves.

I Used To Think I Was The Strangest Person In The World But Then I Thought There Are So Many People In The World, There Must Be Someone Just Like Me Who Feels Bizarre And Flawed In The Same Ways I Do. I Would Imagine Her, And Imagine That She Must Be Out There Thinking Of Me Too. Well, I Hope That If You Are Out There And Read This And Know That, Yes, It's True I'm Here, And I'm Just As Strange As You.

I Wish I Could Do Whatever I Liked Behind The Curtain Of “madness”. Then: I’d Arrange Flowers, All Day Long, I’d Paint; Pain, Love And Tenderness, I Would Laugh As Much As I Feel Like At The Stupidity Of Others, And They Would All Say: “poor Thing, She’s Crazy!” (above All I Would Laugh At My Own Stupidity.) I Would Build My World Which While I Lived, Would Be In Agreement With All The Worlds. The Day, Or The Hour, Or The Minute That I Lived Would Be Mine And Everyone Else’s - My Madness Would Not Be An Escape From “reality”.

Everyone's Opinions About Things Change Over Time. Nothing Is Constant. Everything Changes. And To Hold Onto Some Dogged Idea Forever Is A Little Rigid And Maybe Naive.

You Loved A Man With More Hands Than A Parade Of Beggars, And Here You Stand. Heart Like A Four-poster Bed. Heart Like A Canvas. Heart Leaking Something So Strong They Can Smell It In The Street.”