When the Sun Tries To Go On Again

Here ye! Here me? Come with the night!
Butter cream smell
of rotting hydrangeas.
Who he is that will not come
Into the radical like of Jesus Christ
Our Savior?
Moss grows soggy after night of cherry
milk puffs eating esophagus
The King has spoken!
Shut up, eat your words
And spit them back out with commanding authority
Kill the mother. Birth her belly.
Oh radiant, child call into high grass
Unmown lawn?
Uncle Sam Lee Roy vaulted uncontrollable
laughing tears scratch kitten paws.
Lift up! Tired minds race three legged dogs
Grandma speaks loudlier?
The quiet movement of mouses nose!
The quiet movement of untired toes in midnight air!
Sleep ill with on ghost haunches? With
Cheerios, stop beating heart. Call into the
Wild for the illuminated wolf Buckeye Blitz. Then
lean into out of real the lemon of pink.

Bewildered With Student Loan Debt.

Befuddled.

The choice between what costs less and what means more is a constant. The road to life, I am finding adds more weights as the path goes on. Right now, the money is fake. I don't see it. I'm not licking my fingers and counting it out. The piece of mail that hs my current debt on it is nothing more than a cluster of characters to me. Should that cluster remain in the back of my mind since there is no way for me to pay it now? The economy is getting worse, yes. Are people still going to want art therapists when I am done with school and in $90,000 of debt? I hope so. I am the only one that can make me life meaningful, and that is a high price to pay it seems. Literally.

write write write write write

Sometimes I feel like I cannot write, even a little. My thoughts are so jumbled that putting them into words seems impossible. It would be a different story if I had the thoughts but struggled to get them down on paper, but I have a case of not even getting my thoughts. Any suggestions?

What I Meant to Say.

You must understand that it takes me a very long time to collect my thoughts and organize them into something sensible. And so, this my attempt to restate what I wanted to say in class in better, more understandable terms:

I envy the artist who has lost his mind. I envy the poet who curses the devils above his head and caresses the faces in the grass. He who knows of a place where there is NO LOGIC NECESSARY. He who lives to love the things that are not there. He who creates from an unreal world that is real to him. The crazy is FREE. The crazy isn't forced to manually make up an imaginary world in order to create a work. It is already there. He who lives in a world only visible to himself, I envy for the effortless creativity.