This world is about love
and we work so hard
so hard to try and reach it,
and keep it inside.

Where do i find this love we speak of?!?
I try so hard to find this in everyday life, while fighting off the perils of depression and the common mans strife.
It's a struggle to survive and stay afloat in this grown up world, point me a direction backwards so i may sail in the easy clear blue waters

of my childhood once again.

How do i climb above this all to let the sun shine in? Dirt still clouds my eyes, cant see clear enough to feel the warmth. Someone pass me a shovel! So i can rid this blockage in my path towards greatness. The unfortunatcy of it all is im passed only a fork and knife to eat this pain, and keep it inside.

    If i could live in a world where i was not held back with time constraints, and was able to save the day for anything that i desired… If i could live in a world where distractions were a thing of the past -at last- i would be able to save the day for anything that i desired. tis a child’s life and not an adult mentality, a dream of how things could be if coupled the insight of time with the freedom of being young.

    I would sit above sticks in my backyard and pick words that sound good together.

    I would create amazing things, I could reach such heights so deeply -it would span everything. i can feel it coursing through me, like a water fall turned up all the way.

    The feeling is there yet crowded by the items of everyday life, slowing this water fall to a trickle at times it seems. And i will work continuously to remove this blockage so that my water can flow freely once again.

    Our bodies collect dust, and impurities build, and will build substantially if not counteracted in some way. Some dust, just on the surface, whilst others lay deep below layers of. Dust stuck deep does not creap out willingly, part of me, and needs more harsh treatments to be rid of this time.
    The fire exists to bring forth light to this subject. To burn, to rid of dust buried deep inside forming impurities, must have heat, burn i must to keep the factory clean! But take care of the unending flame, must not stay. Balance is needed to keep the interior from burning too long.

    I believe this year peaked in mid august, in it's pristine peace, freedom and beauty. Now, with all this shattered and returned back to the dream state i knew it was, things seem bland in comparison. Now i fight to get some glimpse of this far off dream again, only to have everything else seem to be standing in my way.

     Like the coming of winter i feel the coldness coming on, knowing it will only take time for the warmth to return. I grit my teeth and push forwards, seeking the sunlight gleaming though to open the door to some kind of pathway to peace.

   Bitterness envelopes me.

     I gasp for breath as creative energy takes place of oxygen. i struggle to keep my lungs filled and watch for somebody to provide me with enough air to keep me alive. Unable to breath in this suburban mentality i choke on stale air, hook up the life support before my creative veins turn blue.

     My heart beats deep with rage from the stage i find myself in, the fire inside burns brighter as i refuse to conform to new energy types. i must extend sights onwards with eyes like a hawk, stretch my neck above this smog of stale eyes unable to see the things i am trying to find.

     Must be the air in this town, point me in the direction of a new sound so i may find the fuel for my desires and end this drought.

     I want to live in a community where the graffiti speaks social commentaries that are hard to decipher to basserbyers, but speak worlds to those that know the scene. i want to live in a community where peoples curbsides act like twenty-four hour dumpsters dives for garage sale seekers to springboard furniture needs. Where creative expression is the only form of currency and not a soul is going hungry.

     I want to live in a community where drips of paint and loose bricks become photographic documentaries of the ever changing air, rather than circled with proverbial yellow paint, slated only for fixation and awaiting repair. Where red x's on trees and rust on street signs act as accents to a mentality so alive even the rocks can smell it.

     The silence that walks the streets gets muffled by pea soup like thoughts and dreams about screaming out desires. you can feel it, like a bee's wing streaming past me, brushing up against, alerting that- there is in fact, something in the air.

     I will find this community, in my mind and in the mentalities of others wishing to move to these same streets. Point me towards the path where a light gleams in the distance, just enough for me to see where i am going...

-don’t worry, ill find my way