November 7 2020



God is love. Piano pieces, peace pieces play the interior ceremony, sweetly singing my native breath i’m never bereft a sweet feeling. Waking, sun’s glistening light years in my eyes, alight in my dreams, reverie reeled in through deep space, interior stellar.


Stars constellate my thoughts. I am and i don’t from one space in time to another playing at illusory shapes and symbols. Artifacts of the unconscious sea, one sea. 


Yesterday i’d constellated quite the value of expenditure with a laugh – hearty and playful hand. Set up an online shop, did not sleep till least 2 am, woke with sunlight in my eyes, through my window.


Where last night i’d watch the wind play the tree f dark forest green juat outside my window like it were puppet. It rapped and rapped at my window, seeming to wave and i’d return a smile, wace, thank you God fir play of this starry life, this forevermore, this green life, this peace piece.


Return my play at shop creating i curate a user experience situated in color theory, relations, connection in feeling with color. I use red, green, blue, yellow. My online shop is pretty nice, piece of art in its own; pray for the beauty bountiful sown harvest, support by friends, peers all into pleasures in a life of art. 


My morning of mornings i walked the green clover grove, finally to awake fully with the burst of blue-yellow cloud and substructure forming formless on nearer horizons. In my mind my thoughts had been empty blue sky and that is why i found quiet recompense in imagining myself the sky, the sun risen in me, christ o God redeemer all-bright and beautiful for pure love. 


Clouds can be anything. I notice the wind in the trees, smile at the magic pulse. My wind chimes play a smooth melody. There’s not a meaning in this but if you’d go open you’d feel the magic too. You say seek and be found. Right around that recollection i’d collected a wayfair branch of the purple japanese wisteria, structuring the new tree with a brace to hold it in more sunlight. My soul singing more light Lord. 


Often i’m told i should have thought about it before doing it, but did you think about living before you are. Anyway its God’s will i’m after only and love of a brother, sister, all their soul of one. One time i broke a woman’s heart i love a couple times now because i forgot how to think. I act strictly on love impulse, i thought so. Anyway i’m a man of love and artistry. Practicing my devotion in passion and patience to a God, the God. So lately i sit around watching light fixture postulating the flow of wind through leaves in the scattered light pockets shaping in and under my shade tree. In the green grass my nose itches, flies crawl on the blue vein on my forearm. The wind chimes, they play on with the wind. So musical.


I like girls that got me playing the same albums year after year, the same fresh feeling each time. I listen. I play along to baby and entertain thoughts on being a professor, schooling myself to discourse on not the ‘what’, ever the ‘why’ in ‘how’. I fancy a degree in doing the least intellectual thought, adopted by the art of impulse. I catch that sentence with her favorite song, laughing into the pen, signing God please be life, love, begin us again unto love.


I’m dreaming of you having dreamt about me. I’m not the best in love. I want to just dream of you. Have you read all the words i compose on your symphony, do you read me?


Could you return a letter to me from Heaven? Have it happen into this own pen?


Say there is gold just like glowing you’ve been in love, free, flying, skies are crying in echoes of last night’s rain clouds. I’m praying to help the wisteria tree grow with more sunlight although i’m not sure if my efforts are in good favor with the tree, i think i see what is best and only God does and only nature wil compose. Herself is throned in majesty of square emblematic swirls of her eyes and from time apart time i’m morr than reminded to re-experience the space between us turned to dust, golden flakes in life’s wind rather, life’s one pursuit of life everlasting. 



I’m on a roll, typically the hash slash indicates a break as though the writer died to their time and walked backward into the future. Feels like the first hour. Feels like the same new feeling. Writing about my life so forget the mundane and entertain magic, majesty, sanctity in seeing the good God of this golden felt universe spent his abundance on breath that we might turn every tulip to two lips to give lip to the greatness of God.


Does she, the flower, wear felt? How autumn in one simple wind spoke birth of the world time and in time again. 


I desire the free expression and decide now i’ll do an essay on natural writing. This is


Natural writing essay


To speak the day is divine presence interlaced with feelings of time and space structured to day to life continuation. Not even i know what that sentence means. That’s what i learned in philosophy lectures i didn’t listen much for because i played my songs in my headphones and drew the trees out the window because i opened every window blind in that drab blackgreybeige classroom every prisoner freeing day. I dropped the act of wanting to drop out and kept up the school reading on my favorite philosopher; perception. 


Perception is the all re-creating force. Of our life, perception is the eye in which we see why life is beautiful, how God orchestrated all, whatever the person, love is abounding. 


Love needs a lover and this i am, the space between.



Whether hallucination backdropped by causation in rotation with my rapture at not my recurring second by second slip me o my mind into a recurring rapture for which i watch the world disassemble. 


Semblance, more like a metaphysical hig at hearing Bidens wins the election, womans a vice president. I am comforted in desire of peace, retribution, this i voice. 


I’m meditation holding, sipping coffee where two weeks ago me and this green cafe table shared sights of parading politics and now the heavy lapping waves of cars is just a melancholic droll. A sweet swallow swings by and by the winds and weaves graceful through traffic. Perches a blueish body to the branch boughed in sienna, leaving green to yellow of an autumn tree. I’m left wandering a familiar space apart time in my mind. The warm of the hot coffee, sensibly soothes, holds hands clammy and cute, the cup is black. I sip water and spill a bit, I’m writing, dreaming, simply going on, life does go on. 


God remembers my conscious with good, i step big into the yellow clouded blue sky in a side street puddle, the puzzle is why puzzle at all? Life is to be lived. Love is to be loved. We are what we are. We are praisers even in breath with God the grand Creator. My ideal day is the one God gives, I pray for my acceptance to abundance. I notice the pink oleander plume petals performing the wind’s composition. I ink and tap my feet to different songs playing from open windows of drifting cars, I sway to the songs at the coffee shop, I burn my tongue on a hot coffee; I’ve gotta look up with the colored clouds, gotta keep attention the beautiful, dream of me is woken in noticing my full body dancing in my seat to a song about feels like summer, A trail hitch rattles by, my left ankle pops, my mind remembers me; numbers pass through sight, floating essence with mathematical attributes. Nikola Tesla vibrates frequencially. The energy is fair. The past three women to walk by have red in their hair. I feel a bit bugged out but notice a bright lights i visually see and especially feel guide me in good love of myself and people and God. 


I think i’m hearing screams, its only whirring of another wave in cars, i look up and purple orange clouds drift in the sky and the checkerboard window reflections of the City Hall of her presence is open. I need a hug. I need to sell some more art, I need nothing much. I need to be content and deepen living. Gotta be love is all, all i am. 


I’m thankful for life, for family, friends, art, love, women, men, every soul of one, I’m grateful for bountiful sowing. Thankful for bountiful harvest. I love God.


While I have time I might also include my theory on time, and in having space I now give my theory of space. 


Spatially while we are situated as ourselves in relation to other things, the soul of all things dispel space, all is near, closer than mind can conjure, tied at the soul. Like petals individual to a flower we are all of a same seed, stemmed by a God progression, loved with the breath of God’s life, given beauty eternal to bloom colorful what we call our own life. What i might not consider my own life is. All is connected in a soul tied with a simple bow of life, this gift of God. 


My doctrine is in doing always what opens perception in adoration ot God. Do what allows you notice of and more into God’s love. Do what compels more into love. Be love.