As I my real self grew older I entered more and more into the substance of my dreams. One may dream and even in the midst of the dream be aware that he is dreaming and if the dream be bad comfort himself with the thought that it is only a dream. This is a common experience with all of us. And so it was that I the modern often entered into my dreaming and in the consequent strange dual personality was both actor and spectator. And right often have I the modern been perturbed and vexed by the foolishness illogic obtuseness and general all-round stupendous stupidity of myself the primitive.

Standing naked on the beach with all of my secrets between my legs I look out into the water and up deep into the stars. I beg the sparkling lanterns of light to cure me of myself

You haunt my days and dreams.

They looked at each other. They werent thinking anymore. The time for that had come and gone. Smashed smiles lay ahead of them. But that would be later. Lay Ter.

Writing is how I process the cacophony of each day. Prayer is how God makes sense out of my scribbles.

Something somewhere knows whats best for me and promises to keep sending me people and experiences to light my way as long as I live in gratitude and keep paying attention to the signs.

Theres no need for conversation if it means becoming slave to one another.

I wish that love could be broken down the way it breaks me down.

It feels like the world is folding up around me like origami paper and Im trapped inside of its breathless center.

Im tired of justifying why I love someone. Im done with the explaining.