In time but I do believe in rhyme. I do believe in conceiving being and meaning and freeing the mind because who deceives then who retrieves our sanity from our vanity but us. Who plans to be rat racing, tail chasing, self effacing for the sake of making a quick buck forever. Stuck in a rut alone but together. Hustling a cut, for worse or for better things to bring into this world. A single syllable of creation, mingled will and the divinations of all tongues become one incantation, one exaltation, one gestation of what. Our imaginations mending the false separations of mind and body, bending the walls of time and space and gods be praised for the equations of life and language. Dangling from our lips, waves on the precipice.
In time or seasons like Einstein reasoned it’s all relative and I’ll say this. I don’t believe in distance or space. I won’t concede their existence because I’d have to admit there’s only me in this place. If space and time curve, let my words have the gravity to let you know that you never have to be alone. Wherever you are. Whenever you are. You’re home.
SOUP IS GOOD FOOD
My experiments have been successful. I made a batch of portobello soup that was on the money! So screw you, Panera Bread. I don’t have to wait on your arbitrary seasonal soup schedule. Chicken stock, cream, sliced protobellos, jarred roasted garlic, garlic powder, a little worcestershire sauche, splash of hot sauce, black pepper, tiny bit of butter at the end. Blend it all and simmer on medium-low for about half an hour or so to let it reduce.
Springs; paving stones; pianos
Currently reading :
American Gods: A Novel
By Neil Gaiman
Release date: By 19 June, 2001
That’s f***ing fantastic. You should funky fresh flow more often, G.
Posted by Janna Mordan on Dec 7, 2006 8:07 AM