twistedson

Well, it all seems to have turned into one big mess; the floor is now stained and my feet reflect the same filth—I am treading dirt everywhere. So it seems that I am in need of more than just a shower, I need a scrubbing, a pressure hose upon me. If you’re not clever these days everything clings to you. Man, if only I could get away from here and venture out into the wild to reconnect with myself and the great spirit that beckons me forth, but as I said, so much clings to you in this life, if you are not clever then you cannot escape even if you desperately want to. The desire just isn’t enough. How terrible. The desire isn’t enough. Money is enough. These days you can buy whatever you like, whatever you want, but if you desire it, if your soul longs for it, your heart screams in hope of attaining that which is floating out there, it means very little, at least to those who count. And by those who count I mean the bastards that have turned existence into a product to be bought and sold, marketed and publicised as if it were tangible, an entity to be put on the shelf with all the other trinkets. To me, such longing remains the touch stone of humanity. The desperation, the deep need, what else is there? I have been reminded recently that to listen is the greatest gift a human could share. To truly listen—my big toe wants to jig, my blood is tired and has been berating me about giving up smoking completely, my mind is an ignored child to which I find it very hard to listen, but then again I want to learn so I persevere; my liver told me yesterday that it doesn’t mind a glass of red but if I binge again I will be one unhappy human, fair enough I said. I can tell my mother wants to see me, if I listen I can hear her, as I can my sisters and father, as I can my friend, if I think of them and listen I can hear them, and it isn’t all good, you know. Perhaps that is my interpretation of what I am hearing or its what I need to hear in order for me to be there for those that speak to me. My fiancé tells me lots of things. I get into trouble in this case far too often. I had to admit to myself that my ego starts whispering, thus I stop listening to the voice in my head and wait for her to greet me, and then we talk together, and I look into her eyes and find the peace I need. Sometimes, if you listen hard enough you can have a conversation, with yourself, or with anyone in your life—at the very same moment you are thinking of them, they are thinking of you; I don’t believe in coincidence. These things happen. Coincidence is an excuse for people without faith in spirit, soul, energy, etc, etc, etc. magic happens. I believe that.