in life i try to do what comes natural.

i try to do the things i want to.

i am learning as i go many different things, there is no way i can communicate what i think. there is no way i can say what my hopes are, what my dreams are. does that make them less important. does that mean i am doomed to obscurity. is there any other doom to have. it has been reported that all of the people that have been like me before have done what i am doing, swum into the trap of freedom gladly, seeing something they thought the others did not see. is it really something the others did not see or perhaps just something they know to avoid, it is a promise which can never be fulfilled.

when people are tired do they lose that part of themselves that controls all those things that are flying around in their heads, all those ropes and nooses and twine and hooks that keep those bubbles and balloons and fish and feathers down? do the skies become cloudy and grey? does a chill wind rush through the windows of their eyes and shake loose all those lines of thought that tie down their repressed feelings, setting them free and letting them rampage throughout the world?

if i had something to say i would show it to you. if you could understand it i would be so happy. if i could say it so beautifully that you could only respond in kind then i would fall apart like a sand castle in a rising tide.

sometimes it seems like my life is just meant as a way to feel these certain days. these days when the air is crisp and the sun is bright. when i can feel the wind blow like crazy and hear the rustling of the leaves. there is so much beauty in the way these colors look, so much that i wish i could emulate for others to see, so that others would see something beautifully unreal, and say "that can't be real" and then notice that it is real in subtle ways. so that people notice more around them. because i think thats whats good in life. those one second memories of splashing water with a stick, the way that the folds of a dress fell around someone i once knew, the touch of a hand. if i could make a all of things visual i would, and i know damn well i'm gonna try.

lying under the dark sky is important.

eating ginger and garlic and bananas too.

wearing comfy clothes is important.

hearing a good song sung by a good voice is important.

looking at something very very close is important.

touching things is important.

having a joke for only one other person is important.

making up new styles is important.

staying up all night to talk about the important and obvious things in life is important.

exploring local habitats is important.

playing with toys is important.

i know theres more but i cant remember.

remembering good days is important.

the dirt on my arms is so thick that the bumps where goosebumps appear are light now. the light from the blowtorches is really cool looking in the light from the setting sun, five green streams edged with purple, occasionally flaring up into bright blinding orange.
whenever the flame goes out the fumes smell delicious, like some food that i once smelled at the dinner table but i was too short to see what it was. i know the smoke must be terrible for me, as terrible as the tar coating my hands, but i really feel like i have done something worthwhile this week.

i have this self destructive streak about a mile wide. i dunno why. mebbe cause im bored of being bored, but mebbe im just crazy. i feel really crazy the last couple days, like i can touch my ideas and they are around me and the currents of life they eddy so fast and i dunno what to do. i got this damn headache yesterday and it wont go away i rub and sleep and eat but nothing. i love the paintings i do in dreams, they are so funny and so dramatic sometimes. i love drama and life so much its absurd, i wish i could fill up a bathtub with it sometime, all that sadness and and you sit there, you know, in a chair just looking around, cause there's nothing you can do. sometimes staring at a picture of a duck, or a marsh or something, everyone always has one of those pictures of a marsh or a duck, a little shack up in the woods, as if theyd really like to stop driving around in theyre taurus or theyre saturn or watever, and just get back to a simpler time where life was even more painful and boring and loving and shorter than today. i dunno, why not just do it. im sure it wouldnt be hard to just rip off your clothes, go screaming of west like a comet into the boundaries of space, mindless but free in that cold cold beyond. some of them reach other systems eventually, eventually come back to a place where the neon signs show you the highway strips where your every need can be satisfied with only the slightest variation of taste or decor. the youth know those places are home instinctively and park their cars in circles and flirt and fight and lie and cry and create the stories that will rule their lives forever in that town. theyre memories are tied to those lots, remember when that was a publix, remember the old lowes. driving by years later they will still remember all those nights spent there, and both they and theyre kids will look at those lots longingly, both wanting to be there for the same reason, but in different times.