the inner life unfolds in the mind garden- propagating thoughts of fleeting genius- penned alchemy- afterbirth of an overwhelmed psyche. an internal sacred ceremony of dying ideas- a divine disorder of mental landmarks- umbilical threads of thought tying together psychic manifestos in mental forests of scavanged ephiphany.
studying my journals like scripture, microdosing mania in a moon-drenched mood. the soundtrack to cinema living swirling on vinyl, my mind is hiding in its hole- regurgitated ravings making unheavenly concoctions. all natural inspiration, food-grade motivation- I bathe in nostalgic noise and fragrance of dead eras, collecting kitsch and evil spirits.
my life is a geode on the brink of unearthing unknown beauty unforeseen. I am overwhelmed by the possibilities, the hiddden prospects. I invent realities to live in, my impenetrable bubble a shelter from outside intruders. there is so much to create. endless epiphanies waiting to be unveiled. i was born to create, it is my most belvoed bane and my daunting driving force. for the first time in a while, my muse is effortless, bountiful, boundless. junk poems, kitsch collage, pastel ravings and creative consumation.
my heart belongs in tennesee, up in the smokeys, surrounded by the shores of overflowing waterfalls and unashamed wildlife. i lament on the florida heat,
the endless road trips with my partner in crime, and kissing in the face of revelation.
the sweet caress of jeff buckley's vocals, the shoegazian ambience of cocteau twins, and reflections on 500 days of summer. the most fearsome fate is loving someone eternally who ends up not being your person. i pray that is not my destiny. i have been both tom and summer, but now i see the divide. true love changes everything.
created 2 new junk journals to divine into poetry collections eventually
going to put something here eventually
