The last couple days have been odd time/space slices from that universe. This woman placed conspicuously in my life, who often leads to torso tenderness that could only be explained by a missing rib, suddenly became what I imagined she was when I first met her. Okay, maybe an occasional blip of what she's seemingly become in constrast to those early imaginings. But for the most part, dancing lighter than air in the too-good-to-be-truth region of my far-too-private reality tunnel (nods to Robert Anton Wilson, RIP).
Making music, love, collecting stones, bones (yes, a small - probably bird - skull glowing white against the sand), waxing philosophic without the usual downward emotional spiral into a tearful abyss of insecurity and regret. Mostly cosmetics and shoe-hysteria free.
If I pinch myself one more time, I'll be apple sauce (and pesticides free, at that).
Of course this is all such an aberration that I can't help but fear being wrenched from the dream in the worst possible way, as opposed to some graceful, subtle way like when one realizes there's no longer a critical mass of lysergic acid diethylamide 25 at the inner helm, and knows the disillusion and absence of lies will slowly fade back to the regularly scheduled consensual nightmare, where Timothy Leary's dead (but fortunately he's outside... looking in).
Those with groking ears, let them hear.
Dazzling morning sunlight, autumn temperatures creep from nights into days, "there goes the sun" a little earlier each night.
That didn't really fit. But it's because now I'm rushing as though the carriage is starting to look a little pumpkinish, because even though she was the good witch from the north all weekend, she's out and about now, and the guilt of sneaking the likes of this online, and of not being able to share such with her, has me looking up and out the windows for her car, even as I feverishly proofread and start wishing she would take her time so I could better describe all this.
And now is mind already a distorted version of what it was before I started writing this, just like how a magic trick is tainted, if not utterly ruined, once you've gone meta and know how it's done. The bliss of ignorance has left the building, I ain't nothing but a hound dog, caught in a trap, in the mental ghetto.
I read soulcast today, oh boy....
