I am busy
nO , I donit have TIME for your eggs on Monday
Tuesdayö ummm no, suck your game.
Sunday mornings are the only thing that matter
Soon little feet will pitter patter
if you ain’t about it
get out the game
heart, heart, smile smart
Where are you?
Let’s up the game
If I could be me
As much as a tree trees
How wonderful life could be
Nature exists in perfection. It becomes the verb of itself. A tree trees, air airs, earth earths, fire fires. They perfect what they are supposed to be. If we as individuals take ourselves as a verb and perfect the being that we are, then great heights we can reach and wonder of all ages we can see. If only we can commit to be the verb of our being.
There is no such thing as normal
Just acceptable and unacceptable levels of insanity
Who determines that is a mystery
We don’t know where we came from or where we are going. So could there actually be a thing called normal? Is the person who douses themself in drugs and alcohol normal because they can’t stand the insanity?
Or is the person who walks on and ignores the insanity in a sober state normal? There is no such thing as normal and supposed to be … don’t you believe? So if there is no normal, it means you must must be exactly who you are.
That is the only thing the universe expects you to be. A 100 percent expression of you.
It is strange to be a creature
aware of it’s own demise ….
Do you ever think about the fact that one day you will not be?
The very thought can suck the air and induce crazy thoughts
That is likely why most choose to be bossed
A fake security to make meaning of being lost
In the meaningless matter
Without ever trying to make anything better
It is not all lost you see
The messages we receive are just drugs and seeds
The real sits inside you and me
There are no rulers and givers of good
Just one who exists and one can make things be
You
The ways of the world makes no sense
Sometimes I want to escape myself
Hover high above
And wait for something else
Sometimes … well a lot of the time, our world just seems lie a meaningless bump on a log. Actually a bump on a log might have more purpose.
You wake up – get out there. And then wonder what it’s all really even about.
I don’t know.
Let’s just create art, perhaps it will bring beauty to the nonsensical.
you seemed sad today
i will always loves you in a way
it is your choice
to not give yourself to me
