One long river of thought

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The stream of consciousness runs until the river dries up and like all things dust returns to dust and is picked up by the wind, whether of weather terrestrial or cosmic. We are all children of the dust and each particle, bit of information and thought within me is as old as when the megaverse was born in that original pulse that set this all in motion.

Everything written on this blog comes out of this one tortured mind, a mind tortured by all the terrible beauty and wonder that surrounds him. Those who would travel down the same tortuous path are welcome. Leave the straight and narrow for those in a hurry.

Many would ask who I am. I claim no particular fame or particular wisdom. I am a searcher and this is a diary of my search. I am also a visual artist, a musician, a writer, a poet, a philosopher, a composer and I have been doing all for a very long time. I am long in years but young in mind. I was born in Alaska under the sign of Aquarius mid-twentieth century and live north of Boston, Massachusetts.

I always appreciate pictures of beautiful women and beautiful art, both of which make life the wonderful terrible existence it is, but many of those who know me think that music is my true religion. But the music I hear is a far vaster collection of sounds than you might imagine, for I hear music in everything. Ask me anything Submit

January 18, 2012

If I could kill the world I would. But I cannot. The world cannot be killed. Only the eyes that see it. And the world will go on, blindness not discounted.

If I could kill the wind I would. But I cannot. The wind will not be killed. It cannot be held long enough, as with water except when it becomes ice. And then it becomes the murderer and I will flee across vast white expanses, searching for a face, an answer, a word.

If I could kill my mind I would. But I cannot. It does not stop and I cannot stop it. It spins story after story without end as though life were a neverending novel without chapters and punctuation. It is the lack of punctuation that bothers me most. I need a pause. I need to breathe before the world and the wind and the water rob me of oxygen.

Life will not let that happen, and even if I die I am not sure the process stops. After all, who has come back to tell us what happens after. After the world, after the wind, after my mind stops running, running, running…

10:44am | URL: http://tmblr.co/ZnqnWyEzUA7b

(Notes: 1)

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