Reality bites. So stay away. Live to dream another day.
Avoid the Cajun Crab (flavored) Dip. Avoid lists of steps to take. Instead...
Rest your brain on the burnished aviary of the day. Reach for the poetry in the unkind cry of an angry crow. Instead of putting in your contacts, roll a grape between your fingers until it pops, and savor the skin.
Use verbs to help you. Mix and separate them from the petty adjectives that fawn upon the haughty nouns.
Beware the adverb, masquerading importantly.
Or...
Window shop at the cold spring beaches, imagining the silicon shore as fractured glass. Dip into the world-skimming salt sea and soak in centuries of water rime dust slime.
Walk in the street behind a school bus and bring yourself to the train depot before 1946 was a memory.
Fan yourself with a branch from a living, green tree, and listen to it speak to your soul.
.... Because you see, cleverness and playfulness and chair-walking aren't what make the rivers run. It is the seeking, seeking for open water, searching blindly but sincerely for the droplet ideas that sparkle on the surface of the mind.
[Unedited post from sleep journal 19]
Avoid the Cajun Crab (flavored) Dip. Avoid lists of steps to take. Instead...
Rest your brain on the burnished aviary of the day. Reach for the poetry in the unkind cry of an angry crow. Instead of putting in your contacts, roll a grape between your fingers until it pops, and savor the skin.
Use verbs to help you. Mix and separate them from the petty adjectives that fawn upon the haughty nouns.
Beware the adverb, masquerading importantly.
Or...
Window shop at the cold spring beaches, imagining the silicon shore as fractured glass. Dip into the world-skimming salt sea and soak in centuries of water rime dust slime.
Walk in the street behind a school bus and bring yourself to the train depot before 1946 was a memory.
Fan yourself with a branch from a living, green tree, and listen to it speak to your soul.
.... Because you see, cleverness and playfulness and chair-walking aren't what make the rivers run. It is the seeking, seeking for open water, searching blindly but sincerely for the droplet ideas that sparkle on the surface of the mind.
[Unedited post from sleep journal 19]
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