Comforting signs none
Tainted glass window
Taste of the artificial
That in your essence
Out of control
Feel of recklessness and loneliness
I don't know 'what the...'
is back and nesting in my Soul, ah.
When I bore myself it is first indication for blockage by all means. Creative, mental, physical. What is causing it I don't know most of the time. Maybe kindness that lost, maybe honesty sabotaged, maybe the need of steering things up into soup desirable brings out that recklessness as result which never ends your writings or ends in a way which is not good. Cos you tried to stay good for too long or too intense, or too strong, or too blind, or confidence ignored; too abusive, too playful with wrong... Nothing sticks together after all that, all the details are messed around. You try to pick them up, to connect, but realise they don't belong. They make no sense, they from different poles; no structure, no purpose they hold. No logical flow, so no excuses and no bird song. You back on the Moon, just stillness and holes. Lots of questions and one answer 'I don't know'. And there is nobody to ask and no road to walk. So?
One important point
You have learned to read the stars!
With this resource you find your way back home.
Galway is liovely and Cork is cool, we decide with a friend. 'Just Different' understanding lands on my static mind, which works overtime digesting culture of the West on top of the question red marked
'Where do I belong?'
Fish and chips in McDonagh's- chillout, girl...