My creativity is burning the mundane to charred remains that I smear over my body as a reminder of what I have outgrown.
Restless I scream because no one at this place will understand my words however careful I choose them.
There is an expression in me, inhabiting me, yearning to get out, to dress in reality and affect and interact with other expressions hiding inside the bodies of the primitive (but evolving) gathering of slaves.
Shocked from my cursing they look at what I do, determine that they don’t understand it even before trying to understand, thinking I’m dealing in some kind of magic.
This is not magic, it’s just basic knowledge, you ignorant twats!
When I wield my magic you will know what magic is.
I eat the ashes of the cold remains of the dying fire. I ingest the world. I become the world. I transcend this petty squabbling pack of apes. Not better, not worse, but further away, needing to do other things.
Diffent states, collide and should not be at the same time or place. They must have their own moment, their own arena, given space.
With all this energy inside, I feel like running, howling, hunting, embracing the progress of my mind.
Together we are, body and mind, the tip of a pen, a wave to a friend, that heartbeat you get from a glance at someone who understands you… We are all these things.
We are that heartbeat. And we set the beat on fire daily.
Around me – people with fire blankets.
Fuck. I really need to go.
I just started to write, keeping my mind blank, to see what I would get. This is the unedited result.