Saturday, August 1, 2015

August 1 notes

Memories are made of clouds, i sometimes think. Their gravity, content, the moisture, the light, the dark dampness and the way they pass through and through over the skies of my little worldly brain, makes me think they are clouds or cloud like – enormous in size and content, but made of something that is soft and light as nothing. There is a colossal psychology laboratory in my head and I think that’s where all of these clouds reside, regenerate, de-generate. Thoughts too, then, are lightening and thunder that accompany these memories.

All of this, combined, rains on my light being; drenching me and I, like a sheet of paper – become soggy, unusable and devoid of any crispness. And if an unsuspecting being, under mindful consideration, tries to pick me up, all it does is tear my fabric up and destroy the last thing I hold dear, my completeness.


These clouds are the end of me.

Knowledge is Eternity .