rocks in my mouth
'Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose,
Nothing don’t mean nothing honey if it ain’t free'.
i don't really know how i'm feeling but i'm pretty sure i'm feeling something. and if i could italicize that "something" i would. and if i could define that something i would. all i know is that i think i know i'm feeling good. i think i'm in the mood to hide away in another world now. once you've had a really good time it's hard to swallow mundanity, and it's stuck up in my throat. and it's tickling my heart. a giant arm of an even bigger tree, covered in moss for me, that's where i want to be. reading myself to life. with or without the rhyme, and with or without the reference to someone else's ideal afternoon. i'll keep writing... if no one cares, if i don't know what i want to say, if i should be asleep getting ready for the next day, it doesn't matter to me right now. i'll keep writing. dear livejournal, ...there are some things that want to be said, but they can't get themselves in order. maybe my brain is bladder shy. but bursts of the USA, of dirty feet airing out over warming open fire, of fields of tallgrass and smallflowers, of that area just beneath the surface of the lake, of spinning merrily in mad circles, of satisfaction, of aspiration and inspiration, of fear of dreams gone stale, of strangers making differences... bursts of these and more, bursts of these and less. and me wondering how to captivate it, control it and domesticate it. me wondering wether watching a kite fly is really all that interesting, or if it's flying the kite that holds the thrill. me, grateful, excited, ready? for what, we're not sure. but it's good. here's the eye of my hurricane. you can rest here now...
('And feeling good was easy, lord, when he sang the blues,
You know feeling good was good enough for me,
Good enough for me and my bobby mcgee'.)
Nothing don’t mean nothing honey if it ain’t free'.
i don't really know how i'm feeling but i'm pretty sure i'm feeling something. and if i could italicize that "something" i would. and if i could define that something i would. all i know is that i think i know i'm feeling good. i think i'm in the mood to hide away in another world now. once you've had a really good time it's hard to swallow mundanity, and it's stuck up in my throat. and it's tickling my heart. a giant arm of an even bigger tree, covered in moss for me, that's where i want to be. reading myself to life. with or without the rhyme, and with or without the reference to someone else's ideal afternoon. i'll keep writing... if no one cares, if i don't know what i want to say, if i should be asleep getting ready for the next day, it doesn't matter to me right now. i'll keep writing. dear livejournal, ...there are some things that want to be said, but they can't get themselves in order. maybe my brain is bladder shy. but bursts of the USA, of dirty feet airing out over warming open fire, of fields of tallgrass and smallflowers, of that area just beneath the surface of the lake, of spinning merrily in mad circles, of satisfaction, of aspiration and inspiration, of fear of dreams gone stale, of strangers making differences... bursts of these and more, bursts of these and less. and me wondering how to captivate it, control it and domesticate it. me wondering wether watching a kite fly is really all that interesting, or if it's flying the kite that holds the thrill. me, grateful, excited, ready? for what, we're not sure. but it's good. here's the eye of my hurricane. you can rest here now...
('And feeling good was easy, lord, when he sang the blues,
You know feeling good was good enough for me,
Good enough for me and my bobby mcgee'.)