We go to war with our feelings.
Right. Wrong. Not sure. Right. Wrong.
Something that tugs and pulls at your soul, but you can’t process exactly what it means or where it originated.
A little bitch is what I like to call it.
You may think of yourself as a writer.
You may think of yourself as an artist.
You ain’t wrote shit for words in over a year.
Does your creation draw an eye or a sword?
It may draw a gun. It may draw ignorance.
You can’t tell the difference between the walls of a gray cubicle and a smoke machine. You imagine it will one day become a gray sky with marshmallow clouds. Why haven’t you left the concrete? You fought so hard to get there. You were a relentless, Christian brat who made it to North Texas. Oak Cliff didn’t know what was coming.
You made it.
Your microwave worked, but your bank account was slower.
What now, baby girl?
I will do whatever the blue print says.
Let us all sing together.
W E – W I L L – S E R V E – Y O U
That’s the proper anthem, right?
Will I ever travel again?
Will I leave the selfishness of American soil?
I don’t like the way it feels.
Get it off of my toes.
Get it away from my bones.
Am I to stay due to financial suffocation? Suck it all away.
Take all the green, but give me gold.
Gold is eye contact.
Gold is a handshake that you cannot forget.
Gold is a handmade connection - tattered fabric that was once a quilt.
Frayed little God-like gold.
Seasons don’t lie to you. You’re either chasing rabbits or devils.
You create a requiem for the little skull of yesterday.
Your mind expands.
You think Higher thoughts of a forbidden intelligence.
Your brain begins to shake in disbelief, followed by a relief of new discovery.
NEW LAND OF THE LIVING.
Get down on your knees and pray for the good stuff.
the key to the heavenly gates
the mushrooms without poison
the berries without sour
Place all of your burdens at the feet of Jesus.
That’s what I’ve been told.
That’s what I’ve read. That’s what I used to simmer on.
He pulls at my arm when I cross traffic.
He pulls at my ear when I wake from a deeper sleep.
He whispers when I don’t want to fucking hear it.
He stays silent when all I can do is pull at his sealed lips.
HELLO there, can you hear me knockin’?
THE KING OF ALL KINGS – CAN YOU HEAR ME KNOCKIN’?
I know you’re not a joke. You’re too clever to be a joke.
You’ve shown me how to care for the footsteps in front of mine and how to level the ground for the ones that may follow.
The Universe is not a hole; She’s a mountain.
Feeling is when you listen to GIMME SHELTER.
the mad bull lost its way
just a shot away
Common for today’s story: People getting exactly what they want at the expense of humanity.
New seas are on the horizon. Old seas are draining to dust.
Don’t stop feeling. I want you to look forward with a novice. Hold my hand.
When you feel numb, hold to the feelings that are certain, the ones that don’t leave.
I’ll look to the humming tires of a Peterbilt hauling the bulls that give a gift to a rancher - The bulls that chase ya - The bulls that win the staring contest.
I’ll look to a twenty-eighth birthday in West Texas. Marfa drew something that I cannot erase. I was told that I could speak to the future years ago, but the future takes breaks. I looked at Elly and Brent, and I knew that something was different.
We traveled to the observatory like obedient tourists should. At first, Mary thought they were car lights, but there wasn’t a fucking highway. Headlights don’t come from sand. Headlights don’t leave each other then join hands. It was magical.
The four of us stood in amazement. I was scared to blink.
Jo + Mary + Elly + Brent
We smoked ciggies as little raindrops fell from the sky. Brent called them fun drops.
I looked into Elly’s eyes with my astigmatism.
May all the goodness transfer from your Papa. May your souls be one, and your hearts survive as a reflection of the other. Similar rhythm. May all electricity flow and connect.
Thank you Elly. You opened a little gift that I didn’t know was wrapped.
We lived the life outside of a cooler and a dream.
Two sandy aliens that didn’t know of color or gender.
They only knew of the other’s existence and needs.
Hey, if you need a hand or a DIRECTION, I will show you because I love all that you are and I relate to your need.
Can you see my veins in your reflection?
Can you hear me knockin’?
Can you relate to desperation?
Let’s shake this shit up until all the dust lands on the noses of the people. Let’s make people believers of the real shit.
BELIEVERS OF THE ROTATION. BELIEVERS OF THE VIBRATION.
Garth to Terlingua.
Seger to Marfa.
Hangover to DFW.
The feeling you feel you should regret is SOMEONE. That’s the one you should toss. If it comes back to you, grab it. Feelings come and they go.
You fall for a man who proves time and time again to be unavailable. This feeling is STUPID. This feeling is DEAF. This feeling is FROLIC.
This man is unaware of all feelings. He is distant to the eye and reach. He lives with the northerner’s and doesn’t know of the move he has on the south.
No woman shall drag a ball & chain.
You allowed yourself to feel something from so far away. You turned your back on your walls. You wanted a piece of Ohio. You wanted to feel Ohio on your breasts. Ohio is an illusion. Hallucinations make you crave clarity, but that motion picture was never yours, baby.
Maybe I’ll run in the sun with someone who wears the same sunglasses as me.
Livin’ on Mountain Time, yea one day I’ll be livin’ on Mountain Time.
There will come a time when Lane will be able to feel a sticky sap from the pines. He’ll bring it home to Mama, and we’ll light a candle in the memory of broken fingernails.
We’ll look back on the climb.
We’ll throw the finger up and give thanks to the author of time and movement.
We’ll tip our hats to the assholes who were doubtful.
We’ll tip our hats to the family who faithfully pushed our thighs when our ankles gave surrender.
We’ll tip our hats to the devils who pretended they knew better than we dreamed.
The wind has carried us.
She will not fail to bring a new leaf.