hey revolver, don't mothers make good fathers? i've been going back to ratm again. it feels like some sort of release in the deadening weight of the snow that falls on my shoulders. you realize how that metaphor gets old quickly. hush little baby, all you need to know is pec. piec. pec. pies is pies in english. a little puppy is a pie. dog pie. who would've thunk it? i had an odd smile to myself moment the other day. or today. or yesterday because today has already begun. ever notice how time just happens to begin without telling you. that what you're really waiting for is nothing at all. delete. start a new page. let's go back to something a bit older. i used to write about boxes that would shut close and not let anything in and now i feel so open so wonderfully open and arms up wide open to the sky up up up above so high and it looks like a religious ectasy but all it really is is that wonderful ray of sunshine pulsating down onto my beating chest eyes wide shut mouth stifly open to expel the memory of an alternate personality that would write music and lyrics and poetry and all of the beautiful things that made the sunflower imprinted on my back turn and follow the sun as the day went on but when the sun was gone because it is unobserved knowledge that heliocentric theory applies here the sunflower looks down at the ground asks it for an answer or just takes a short nap knowing that things will be better again that's its wonderful lesson- don't worry, be happy (slurred words)
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