There are so many wood beetles that rattle in my bones. Insanity wanes and I want for political fist fights and riots over diets. For bra-less women feminists and brother who know how to dance.
I want rain forests and the movement of the leaf-cutter ants. I drink, like a vampire for blood, the words Taren Moroun writes. I lap, like a dog, photographs of dense jungles or macaws in trees beds.
A contradiction life, a juxtaposition.
for I am surrounded by unbelieving activists and inactive believers. Some people just end up trying to save individual souls from their sins and other end up trying to save the world from the ‘system.’ Give me a hair tie and a pin and let me stitch them together with glue. We need both of you.
I will be a gorilla. A gorilla gardener, a gorilla moma, bike rider. Oh the lovely things.
I want a life of tiny hauses and dumpster diving and welding tall bikes. Not because its a ‘trendsetting’ thing to do but because its simple and I find so much pleasure in it. So much explosive potential within.
excellent rescources, click ClickClackGorilla
…maybe I’ll just curel up and hibernate until my life gets better. Can’t wait. Bolderdah! Start creating the progression this day. Cease the day!
Ode: to that person over there with black curly hair, brown skin, a faded shirt and no shoes, sitting amongst sorority girls, a boy in nervous puberty and three children with lolly pops.
I love you
Like a cactus among daisies
You poke up black as a tumb
Unsure. Dispained. Out side of your city
And the land who did make you
Amuck in a city of smucks…no
I’m sure their something good, like bitting past
The pit of peaches
But truth is, companero
You’re a hawk and their all falcons
Your black and they’re shades of grey
You are distinct and they are deterred
You are silent and they chatter on
“There is a difference between fighting the system and choosing to explore new paths outside the system. Everyone should jump tracks; not with militancy. Not with black arm bands around your arm, just say what you’re against, but with a resolve.”
Written by this guy called Bob Goff. He made his office on the Tom Sawyer Island at Disney land and rambles into the garden in his jamies to pick roses for his sleeping wife.