My arms falling off, the trees, the groves, swiftly moving by my head. I could have shot them all. Watch me son, watch me drive this car off the road. Watch me make you laugh. Lets weave inbetween the trees,. The rules don’t apply to me yet. They will, they will apply to you too… don’t listen. Just watch. Just watch me blow it all up… searching
I am sorry… too many long nights mountain biking mapping out far away cities thinking it would all work, running through the woods, filming videos, making movies… a garage that I thought would become an art room a studio, became a storage… dreams, that I had to challenge, cut my head off.
And let my juggler become\became just that, an amusement to a king until I could hold court.
Every day that goes by, I feel so further from the original interpretation, the translation of what it is all… ever day that goes by it seems so closer, until you don’t have any more time to explain or write about it, it is just happening and writing almost seems dull and you begin to do it in different ways… you smile more, and wave more realizing you can change things by seeming, well “upbeat” “happy” you have the ability to steer the ship away from the rocks. You do that with her, it is a goal. God told you so, be nice, be happy, make her happy make her laugh.
The thing is you get it, and all the horror falls asleep like when you were scared to go to sleep… to fall asleep, and slept a certain way on your bed because who knew what was going to pop up… and you slept. Your mom moved though-out your dreams because what angle wouldn’t? She rubbed your head, she calmed your storm.
In this storm, we have found new beacons. Our ships crashing and crashed… and forget about telling the stories. The story is that we are here and maybe we need to fall more in love with that… understanding.
Get it, got it, good. Tell your son about it. Smile. Move on. Smile some more. I am closer to knowing who I am, I am closer to keeping my yapper shut. That is just how I roll.
Kim, god her hair is so long, hope she never cuts it
What grave yard did she dig me out of, how did she find me with her fingers and her tattoo
I wish she knew how I felt
About all this.
Sort of like a hill and a dream.
Sort of like floating.
A ship at sea and storm and the captain, my father the skipper saying, “don’t worry... soon we will be safe in harbor drinking beers and eating steak. We always are.”
we always are son, kim, that is how we roll.