Someone I’d like to consider a good friend of mine snapped this photograph. It’s delightful.
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Who are you? Are you enough? Is that enough? Do I have any right? I fell in love with a religious picture of you. you were standing among birch trees, my favourite trees.
A river behind you, and two specks of black in the left foreground, no doubt birds delighted to share the frame with you, or perhaps even be used as an example of something or other in a parable. Do i have any right to come after you with my dusty mind? Could you teach me about leaves? Do you know much of different strains and types of moss, or maybe even ferns ? i’ll come after you
but right now you must know more about heaven. does it look like one of those little plastic altars that glow in the dark? i swear i wouldn’t mind if it does. Are the stars tiny, after all? Do you see how i get carried away?
how i want to be ……how i want the world to be mystical and good? Are the stars tiny, after all? Who will put us up to sleep? Should I save my fingernails? is matter holy?
I want the barber to bury my hair. Who am I to refuse the universe?
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my interpretation of an excerpt in Beautiful Losers.
It’s 2:58 a.m. and I find myself having……..feelings. Going lunar. Why must I keep taking this seat? I need a new imaginary friend.
