Hallelujah
I think I am more alone in my wagon than I ever was sleeping where I fell. Where I found a shelter. Every sound seems to echo in here. I think too much.
Today I painted on the sides. Great sweeping visions of color. Probably only understood by me. Sometimes I wish there were someone that could share it with me. To see it as I did. To understand. Is that not what we all wish for? For a moment when you realize that you are not alone. That someone out there in the mass of thought connects with you. It is enough to swell in your veins and burst upon your skin and suddenly you feel everything and you see everything and you .... well you know ... everything. At least I believe that to be true. And even if it is not I dream of it. I envision it. I see it out there in the stars when I ride at night.
I am full of so much. So much I have never shared with anyone. The dreams and visions all wrapped around the idea that the person exists that will understand. That will see what I pull from the things around me as I build what is mine. Who will find shelter in it. Who will see the mark I leave upon this existence and marvel at it and be lost in it and ...and will see it ... and know that it is my signature.
I would yell at the top of my lungs unto the Sky if I could just express myself. I look around me and it seems to come so easy for some. They do, they build and it is recognized for what it is. I struggle to lift my alter to the heavens and it comes out crooked and writhing. Misunderstood and they are afraid. Afraid of what I see. I can not help I see the world without its skin. I see the tendon and sinew. I see the rush of blood through veins and how it is all tied together and how it works from the inside out. And it is beautiful and it is ugly and it is sick and it is wrong and yet ... it is. And I can not deny what I see.
One day I will find my artist. I will gorge myself upon her. I will cleave her open and I will glut myself on every atom of creativity she is and I will bathe in her and I will dance in her and I will paint with her until there is nothing of her left but my signature.
Perhaps then ... they will understand.
Today I painted on the sides. Great sweeping visions of color. Probably only understood by me. Sometimes I wish there were someone that could share it with me. To see it as I did. To understand. Is that not what we all wish for? For a moment when you realize that you are not alone. That someone out there in the mass of thought connects with you. It is enough to swell in your veins and burst upon your skin and suddenly you feel everything and you see everything and you .... well you know ... everything. At least I believe that to be true. And even if it is not I dream of it. I envision it. I see it out there in the stars when I ride at night.
I am full of so much. So much I have never shared with anyone. The dreams and visions all wrapped around the idea that the person exists that will understand. That will see what I pull from the things around me as I build what is mine. Who will find shelter in it. Who will see the mark I leave upon this existence and marvel at it and be lost in it and ...and will see it ... and know that it is my signature.
I would yell at the top of my lungs unto the Sky if I could just express myself. I look around me and it seems to come so easy for some. They do, they build and it is recognized for what it is. I struggle to lift my alter to the heavens and it comes out crooked and writhing. Misunderstood and they are afraid. Afraid of what I see. I can not help I see the world without its skin. I see the tendon and sinew. I see the rush of blood through veins and how it is all tied together and how it works from the inside out. And it is beautiful and it is ugly and it is sick and it is wrong and yet ... it is. And I can not deny what I see.
One day I will find my artist. I will gorge myself upon her. I will cleave her open and I will glut myself on every atom of creativity she is and I will bathe in her and I will dance in her and I will paint with her until there is nothing of her left but my signature.
Perhaps then ... they will understand.
posted by Fonce of the Tuchuk at
8:16 PM
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