Four o’clock in the morning and yet again I find myself wondering if sleep is but a myth. Some scurrilous rumor or lurid deception propagated by the right thinking and sound of intellect.
Good health and happiness. Bah!
Fairy tales.
I live in trauma town where there are nothing but shambling night terrors and carnivorous plants.
Still. It must be said. Such creatures make fine company for the increasingly demented and unsound of mind.
At the very least, they do not bore me.
Sweet dreams sweet world.
Love
Whippoorwill. I think.
sleep well, be rested. it helps to keep one sane and sure of the reality around them.
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Reality and I are no longer on speaking terms.
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I’m rooted to reality, I have no choice. There is no other way for my living and being. I am the tree of life. My feet buried in the ground, my arms stretch out to the sky and I want to dream… I want to fly.. I want to be where everywhere is, whenever, however… I want to be… part of it.
But I am the land. I am the earth. The boring and stable EVERYONE WALK ALL OVER ME AND SHIT. I’m a means to an end. I can get them places. Like to the ocean to swim, or to an airport or cliff where they can run jump and fly.
I’m a fucking tree. They chop me down and they yell “timber!” but that’s not even my name they yell.. they could have yelled kimber
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Teehee….you said rooted.
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Damn fucking right. Every sense. If I’m to be tethered to the earth, root me. Then I don’t have to be so… longing and yearning. I need to be rooted.
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I want to sing stabbing westward to you, sometimes it hurts too much to lose the ones you love.
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