1. 1 year ago 

   Unwritten

   She wrote the story of her life looking forward into the grips of mystical realms we try to grasp. This is backwards, seemingly, because one can only patternize a story in hindsight, after the lesson is learned and the ultimate goal is achieved. But she realized that the ultimate goal is to sacrifice the grasp for a goal.

   She wrote the story of her life without any intention of it being caressed in distressed arms of fragmented beings everywhere who had already pick pocketed the universe of fairies and alchemy and UFOs. And when the magic evaporated from the land of discovery, pain manifested in the forms of feeling and entertainment, sorrow and indifference, laziness and the Hunger.

   She wrote the story of her life without ink or technological manifestations of wonder, but a dream. We all sleep at night, some soundly, some lucky enough to choose a world not experienced by a rational mindset. Some of us dive into deep waters and encounter golden fish with the ability to sense a miracle or finding out all of our friends and family members are actually Gods. Some of us need to feel the bombs exploding overheard. We run or lament or feel. Some of us live truthfully, with our heartbeat truly extending amongst the tips of our forefingers and heels and cheeks and ultimately the hearbeat of the civilization that reflects beauty and genuine light, regardless of how it appears when we open our eyes.

   She wrote the story of her life without regard for the individual, because a writer does not belong to the individual as she does to the entire universe. Nor does anybody who marches and jumps and dances and smiles at the echo of a heartbeat and the appreciation of the breath that has been passed through Gods and nature and war and evolution and existence for time that cannot be condensed into what we call years.

   The story she has written is the history of everything and the story to come that is constantly embedded in our skin like diamonds in the Earth and stars in the sky.

2. Notes

If you have to make a living, it's already made you.

I'm another artist who wants you to read what I write. Basic idea of a blog? I think so.

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