i took a small nap; this morning and later this afternoon my mind stirred with dreams. winter is beginning to press slowly on nature-something about the sun now is sharper but weak. it takes about 1 hour for my body to heat up enough so that i am uncomfortable and must turn over, lying there my body shakes every second from the beating of my heart eyes half awake half asleep in frenzy-somehow the waking life is populated by actors and the stage is my bed; the quiet that receives me is a dilated friend. hope relying on every open way but when it approaches the desert it stops moving surrounded by stars and valleys of barren openness. without a guide to carry it across it merely waits for fools. i try my best in all my waking instances, and when something turns up Beautiful, my gut tells me I have been lazy-for what is anything done, the precious moment away from pain is bliss, but bliss is wrecked by havoc chaos and it seems that I can find the point where twilight is slowly receding but never gone, stuck in the eternal point of the see-saw where the body is at a medium. i feel this medium. it is cold and i cannot move. if i were to die it would be very still and without force. can i sit forever? if i am presented an array of faces will each one tell me something new-it is without good reason that man suffocates the lungs and expunges that joy that can be too overwhelming to hold in cupped hands. i am a slayer & I do not understand compassion for myself; a sword through my stomach tells my insides what they feel. the worthless guise of pretty eyes makes vomit transcendent more real than the deception that can lie inward staring at a mirror and knowing the nature of the mind and not knowing and being forced to play hand after hand without an understanding of the game; let go. to those that plant themselves in the bar at night, you are surely revelry without bound but when i drink i get sleepy and toss in my sleep. i cannot accept this communion because it does not please me, but the naked body that lies next to me breathing softly in my darkness, that pleases me but i cannot sleep until it is gone. i try to close my eyes and let the blanket become a comfort. i'm not worried but it makes me lonely-a patio devoid of wiles waiting for them to come and the moths hover carefully not to mess up one's hair. it has everything to do with wanting & A conflict produced as a result. where the mess of people sit rank in disarray i am absent-there is no such thing as mess only infinite substance. i would carry you and stroke your cheek and kiss Face cheeks, tongue, lips, forehead, running fingers through your hair. the house empty & my own. there is no one here but us. now do not be offended that I have to turn over, my chest is burning from heat. the relief i get from moving to my side is what the pleasure seekers call bliss, it is also known as comfort, calm, and peace. every photo ever shown to me a piece of paper. if there was ever an instance where nostalgia was so strong it removed me from the present it would be called deja vu. alas-there is nothing but my quiet and your fear. let it fall. become Okay with everything that you are and the argument in your mind will weaken. rocks stacked in any fashion form a shrine; a human divine of our small ability of manipulation.