I had this perfect little stone, I would carry in my pocket or I would just hold. Like it was my only ability to feel. The slippery groove that my thumb made. As if holding onto or pushing away would help this feeling that grew deep inside of me. I was lost. Oh, that is for sure. I wanted to prove something real, find some truth in that stone. All I wanted was to feel it, to rub until the truth unveiled some reality that I could say was valid.

All I found were surrealist’s dreams I carved out. It was when I put that stone down, when I finally walked away from the created dream that I found out what was real. What was valid? My truth. It is not some truth that belongs to anyone but me or maybe on some level someone like you. I don’t know. I think like this, if any truth I utter, speaks to you some dormant truth, grab it and make it yours. Share it with someone else, and respect whatever truth transpires from that pliable truth that continues to shape and form into some glorious sculpted unique utterance that is universal.

I don’t necessarily know what I am saying. It is just flowing through me lately. I feel so connected to something bigger than me. I feel you, I suppose; your electronic voices, everyday, telling me something compelling. Fuck, telling us all something, Real and valid, truth. My life has been fragmented in so many ways that the worlds best puzzle piecers could not have completed the puzzle. And no, this puzzle is still scrambled. Some pieces jammed in just out of shear frustration because the colors and shape sort of matched. Shit is not perfect, but it is coming together people. Or not. Or maybe undone. Maybe the fucking puzzle stop existing and it was all an illusion anyway.

No one told me living died, passion lied, and now I find myself a refugee thinking I was lost at sea. I got that message in a bottle all on my own, in silence, beneath the screams, in the underbelly of humanity. And fuck if the message wasn’t clear. Somehow the words are smeared and the tears fell amongst the fear. But there is a light in the darkness that I can’t find. I know it all seems dark and it all seems unlike I see it, because in the darkness, in the alone, I am there, with my smile, ready for what it offers.

It is my fascination with fear, my ability to seek out the secrets, or just maybe I am fool. I like the dark, I like the pain, and sometimes, just only in the quiet, it whispers out, “shhhhhh don’t tell”. If I had a secret I promise it would be a good one, but I forgot the point that began this clank of my keyboard. That’s a lie, and you know it. I know the point; the point is make it count people. Make your life count. Hold it close and open yourself up the miracle that the journey unveils in the silence beyond the screams, in the underbelly and come up and kiss the humanity that surrounds you.

Breathe… slowly…. feels good right?