November 6 2020


Love, love is God and God is love in all fullness of life. I wake to golden clouded skies, surely angels –

Hold a great dance out beyond there, purple garments thrown off for a naked dancd and jewels like rain slip down out their pockets. For the purple blossom potato plant she awaits sweet recompense for a dry summer and autumn is her saving grace. Little bees buzz in and out about the ins and outs of her blossoms. I piss in the rocks. The purple japanese wisteria is looking lovely and fine with that big head of green leaves, saving wayfair with winds, succumbed to an ever reaching for more light, more life, more God.


First a fluttering flap of feathers, rustle of branched noise grew in the grapefruit tree, a dove came flying, singing the song of the birds, i whistle along. I write lyric for nature’s morning symphonic. 


I’ve two circular paintings hung on the wall above the the blue wisteria flowers, i forgot i planted them some time ago. One painting is blue and swirly like moon or night. The other painting is red and swirly like the sun ir day. Theres some yellow and pink in the day, some green and brown in night. I stand at a tall writing table. A slow droll hum of cars vibrates through distant space. I think of Gabi and over distance not. I can hear the moonrise or mourning dove chirping. Train cars stocked, a soft metallic thud that echoes a mile off by Kokopelli pond where i’d often be apt in reverie of pond water ripples, fish jumps and flies and flops, the love birds, the geese, sally, jyl, the two wise crane birds, white and black, green field grass and pines to dream beneath. 


The pines stay green through seasons, only dropping pine cones that will vary in openness. Today i’m quite the open one for love and fortune. I pray the moment God give abundant blessing i can be attentive and account in creative aspiration. I desire to monetize with value my eternal beauty in art that i will live financially stable from my artistry. I am purchasing a new van now. A ‘95 limited explorer, converted for living and making me my home on the claim, all life is journeying. Roads we inhabit of absolute change, discourse daily with sojourning souls, i am alive for we, for love, sustained by the great Creator and lover of this universe.


Morning consists in a fervent drive to attain currency, gotta make that art, that money, that soul sing harmonically. I photograph painted books in the long green grass, using a white ruffled pillow case to showcase each piece made with a shop online themed in organic elegance; i ask a flower if i can pick a flower, receive a yes and a fine prop to situate. My outside studio shoot.


I smelled the white bud by accident, filled with a memory i cant quite recall. Photographs are taken. I’m lost about, outside and free in time; coming back i remember i’m to deliver and wall install my $700 commission painting. I’m short on time, play beats and camly organize necessary materials for the install. With time to spare i stand outside with the white and green-pink flowers, under plush purplebrown cumulous clouds, winds a-whispering beauty, elegance, the finery of life, a wash of peace through the autumn leaves. I ride the wind, wind chimes sing. 

Sunset is bright bulbous reds burgeoning in clouded flames as purples of deep space fill the spaces between the clouds. Suns pulling all the colors with her in one final show of God, lovely creator.

Blue wisteria flowers smell sweet, look like another flower that starts with b. Burlap sacks are good painting product. Promises mean no thing to people. God is an eternal promise of love. Time is a standstill. Rotation, momentum; passion and patience. Devote yourself in the two of these like white and black steads of steady freedom.


Bright days, got caught my thought, green as a lead clover, wealth is in the mind. Abstraction of blue hour dispels my ability for the sensical. I don’t come down, i am in the setting sun and rising moon, glow-a-glistening – are you listening?


Know im born like star. Know i’m not proud of anything i’ve said, nor done. Now i’m proud of faith, forget-me-not redeemer in my honey ear, my heart apart no heart. I’m sea of seas, droplet in droplet; milliseconds of a caught feeling – abstracted in two, lose false zelf, become true self!


I remember Thomas Merton’s book with a beige white and green leaf and letter book cover. Switch of the seasons some years ago imparted a wind for which a leaf up upon a white water birch tree could no longer hold onto summer feeling the drift sway of winds, green leaf turned yellow, turning sway and sway in the blue sky air and felling fair on me, my pulse, just below my beat, i felt touched by God. Nature had it good.