Veins
Between the veins of butterfly wings translucent glass of rose and green stain. Pale stains upon the wall beyond where red ponies prowl thick heavy blue shadow lake, red ponies move in poor animation really not moving but rather glide, sliding on and off the scene and one has a rider a bare assed heavy set solid strong woman, thick black her hair long and tawny brown with flecks of yellow her skin as she glides on a red pony when butterfly glass splinters clear butterfly blood pulsates from these shattered veins seeping between the wall dream on the verge of nightmare when as the woman draws the blood red out of the pony and up into her own body by her own teeth and the lake ripples orange with serpent scale as countlessly butterfly blood oozes into your arm down from the wall. Cocoon witness loose blood clots into new life. Birth the nightmare experience but crisis avoided cartoon ponies riderless return play slide glide in the heavy blue shadow lake marked orange with serpent sunlight.
As the tensions of the day fade lines between nightmare and dream erased unknown un-interested river golden between shadows overhanging trees delicate spring greens over brown soft silt pools edged slippery with gravel, hidden cold secret corners underwater cave and crevice between rock and mud edges a long refreshing sanctuary blessings of water perfected by cool earth cradling something as beautiful as a trout. Spring green late afternoon exceptionally hot sun illuminating everything so enticingly touchable all alive such earth such life calls out telling; forget of light that’s broke you’re artists heart, this day calls this day calls out to you telling you squat down by the river side dabble your fingers in the mud of life, you can squat down wiggling your toes like new worms in a cool muddy birth place, you can play with a million miniature suns jumping dancing harmless sparks of golden electricity around you. Same sun the first tiny spit of life enjoyed in days so long ago there was no time. That’s where life began in a place outside of time. Life needs timelessness in which to begin, it needs to rest rocking in sly arms of a salty sunlight mother in a time so long ago there was no time but sunlight the same sun, the same muddy muck, the same water mother that calls to you telling you can come out now and play - Who knows what life will begin with you should you take this day to become timeless? It's still same sun, same wind, rock still hard, sky still blue, and it's all Magic and secrets revealed to any who take the time to notice, secrets begging to be found out all just hanging out there right up front, no con games, no shadow play nothing is kept from you - it's still the same sun.
The world is a woman holding out her breasts to you, just lick them and you'll get the fuck of your life, man, woman , child, just lick the breast of the world and she give you an orgasm that will carry you for a million years. It wasn't an apple Eve offered it was her breasts and she wasn't a temptress but rather the ultimate blessing and the garden was a garden of ignorance and what god worth worshipping would have wanted a human race of dummies and no matter how hard we try we can never be as ignorant and maybe it was blissful every thing in nature content, content to grow live die kill be killed but being god is lonely enough and so Eve brought the blessing of knowing, because of woman humans have the ability to know. True we don't have the bliss of ignorance but we have the ecstasy of living life, if we let ourselves be aware.
We are the creature able to appreciate beauty, pain, god, love the wonder that is everything We can never get back to "true" nature we shall never have a home a place among the rest but isn't there something gallant about our vagabond existence, isn't there something which endears us to the universe? We have the ability and therefore obligation to experience. If there ever was a garden then well to be out of it and into the wonderful wilderness adventure of knowledge, and if there is a god then he's glad we took a lick of that breast and if there is a sin there is but one and truly it must be that of refusing the experience of living, not treading that fearfully exciting path of self exploration and refusing to tamper with the secrets, refusing to wiggle our toes in the mud refusing to let our fingers sway with the dancers of the sun. I love women because they got us out of that Eden, without them getting us out we'd be just like trees and though I have great love and am awe struck over the great beauty of trees, I equally value and respect the beauty of our purpose that we, observing beauty also play our own sacred part. The knowledge of beauty is the gift woman / Eve has blessed us with. What if we worshipped that instead of a bloody execution, how different do you think the world would be?
When your dead I'll dance on your grave sing a song drink whiskey dance drink throw up scream spit scratch breaking my nails on the stone lay down playing with the muddy vomit fresh dug grave and all the while singing throw up and blood my blood seeps down through the fresh earth touching your snow white skin making you smile.
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