I. At first glance, I read the fortune as "a goal is a dream in decline". I assure you that mis-read is no reflection of my state of mind. Not at all related to my inner landscape, my worldview, my soul's visage.
You don't really look assured. You're not buying it? No, huh? Okay, fine.
Well, we are who we are and we pack it and unpack it and drag it and hump it from one stop to the next. Sore feet. Aching shoulders, hips, low back, kness. Some of us are in light and some in darkness but most are too busy or terrorized or confused or distracted or oblivious to know or to care much either way.
I'm this kind of guy, kind of hairpin, kind of fellow: the jealous type. That's what she said. I try to explain. but no matter how I slice it, I got it. I'm infected.
Sprayed paint. Tainted saint. I'm a green-striped Pepe Le Pew. Sacre bleu!
Make it seem silly rather than what it is - the annihilation of all that is good.
What were you thinking earlier? Oh right, that you are split between two basic archetypes - shrine builder and besmircher. Build your temple to the object of worship then smear its ornate, sacred walls with feces. Conflicted boy. What is the nature of your conflict, boy? Nature boy.
There was a boy, a very strange enchanted boy, and he wandered very far, very far, over land and sea,
and then one day, a magic day he came my way, and we spoke of many things, fools and kings, and this he said to me, "the greatest thing, you'll ever learn, is just to love, and be loved in return".
Those lines are from memory, but I might be scrambled and or condensed. My memory is a stew, a sludge, a screw. Have you ever listened to Nat "King" Cole? Now that's a voice, right? Takes someone else's heart's song and sells it like he owns it. Do you know there was a time when I imagined he was my Dad? You should check him out or whatever.
She told me not to be afraid to fall. But what else is there to be afraid of? What the songwriter is getting at, getting back to the Nat song, is that you've got to get out of the way, dummy. Let love do it's work.
A bumbling bumble bee careens between flowers.
A lover lost, keening away hours
in the mist on wet stones.
Do what Love says not what you say.
Let it play. Let it stay. It's okay.
You bring madness.
Bring something better for your host.
II. What if you didn't allow yourself to color and shade everything? What if you just let it all be? That's a nice dream. Begin now.
You don't really look assured. You're not buying it? No, huh? Okay, fine.
Well, we are who we are and we pack it and unpack it and drag it and hump it from one stop to the next. Sore feet. Aching shoulders, hips, low back, kness. Some of us are in light and some in darkness but most are too busy or terrorized or confused or distracted or oblivious to know or to care much either way.
I'm this kind of guy, kind of hairpin, kind of fellow: the jealous type. That's what she said. I try to explain. but no matter how I slice it, I got it. I'm infected.
Sprayed paint. Tainted saint. I'm a green-striped Pepe Le Pew. Sacre bleu!
Make it seem silly rather than what it is - the annihilation of all that is good.
What were you thinking earlier? Oh right, that you are split between two basic archetypes - shrine builder and besmircher. Build your temple to the object of worship then smear its ornate, sacred walls with feces. Conflicted boy. What is the nature of your conflict, boy? Nature boy.
There was a boy, a very strange enchanted boy, and he wandered very far, very far, over land and sea,
and then one day, a magic day he came my way, and we spoke of many things, fools and kings, and this he said to me, "the greatest thing, you'll ever learn, is just to love, and be loved in return".
Those lines are from memory, but I might be scrambled and or condensed. My memory is a stew, a sludge, a screw. Have you ever listened to Nat "King" Cole? Now that's a voice, right? Takes someone else's heart's song and sells it like he owns it. Do you know there was a time when I imagined he was my Dad? You should check him out or whatever.
She told me not to be afraid to fall. But what else is there to be afraid of? What the songwriter is getting at, getting back to the Nat song, is that you've got to get out of the way, dummy. Let love do it's work.
A bumbling bumble bee careens between flowers.
A lover lost, keening away hours
in the mist on wet stones.
Do what Love says not what you say.
Let it play. Let it stay. It's okay.
You bring madness.
Bring something better for your host.
II. What if you didn't allow yourself to color and shade everything? What if you just let it all be? That's a nice dream. Begin now.
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