By Writing I Can Live In Ways

When Every Inch Of The World Is Known, Sleep May Be The Only Wilderness That We Have Left.

We Have These Earthly Bodies. We Don't Know What They Want. Half The Time, We Pretend They Are Under Our Mental Thumb, But That Is The Illusion Of The Healthy And The Protected. Of Sedate Lovers. For The Body Has Emotions It Conceives And Carries Through Without Concern For Anyone Or Anything Else. Love Is One Of Those, I Guess. Going Back To Something Very Old Knit Into The Brain As We Were Growing. Hopeless. Scorching. Ordinary.

In Order To Purify Yourself, You Have To Understand Yourself, Father Trais Went On. Everything Out In The World Is Also In You. Good, Bad, Evil, Perfection, Death, Everything. So We Study Our Souls.

Numbers, Time, Inches, Feet. All Are Just Ploys For Cutting Nature Down To Size.

To Love Another Another Human In All Of Her Splendor And Imperfect Perfection , It Is A Magnificent Task...tremendous And Foolish And Human.