1.64 : 04.02.07
Nothing is as it seems, artistic freedom is almost dead. In awe of money it spreads like death. Finding only wood for the fire. No force should there be imposed upon creativity. Ignore those bonds, set it free, look to yourself for success not what you hold in your hand. For all the reasons it is there is wrong. No longer should we need such dependence. Excel yourself in your worst fears and you shall never fear yourself. For knowing what’s inside is the key to something else. There are no routes left upon the shelf, nowhere left to put our hands yet all unto no ones writ this before. Nothing no more is pure, not even the word, stained unto paper to make you think. They will never tell me what not to say, I’m in my way not them, I am here to see to it that I am here. Life’s tremble is thin, stay on the line and you may never win. You want this more than me for I am half way there. Don’t stare, you say it’s rude. No one can say who this is only we can truly find bliss. So sweet as a kiss. Is all this for me or them, who does this help in the end. I’m inspired by her yet it never began. I’ll remember you if you remember me. It’s all too late, for goodness sake. Lie with the stars, they aren’t true with their fake cigars. Enough of that now, it’s plain where this has been, because where it’s going is clean. No screams. All in all we shall float along buoyed only by her song. It helps in all cases and all boxes. For one thing, love can stay pure even if freedom cannot. So to love it must look, from the scratch on the paper or the curse from the speaker. To create is to love, to bring into this world. Born from within not to monkeys whim. But all ran soggy, that’s fine but how do we live. We live without want and own ourselves, rather than selling. I am mine but your not. Throw down the barrier and pull down the sign. Money is useless if you don’t have the time. You cannot price what is here that’s the beauty of it. Its incredible what happens when you mime as your worry matches others. Face up to it most of you, I never promise for such an expense, yet I am trying without any press. Through the lines of constraint we struggle. Others find us and yell. We find sound a comfort in whatever form, its all recognition. A yell or a scream can please as much as applause. An impact is made and recorded and played. Memory can dent up or down with a smile or a frown. The love of life should fuel this strife. You sound like you care, I don’t I’m scared. How it came to this when we’re told we had so much. We were told too much. We were told how, when and why, not think about it, defy it and pour out your own eye. Don’t live for tomorrow you never get there till you die, live for today and poke god in the eye. See you’re listening now I told you, you would, did I. Of course you did, not I. Listen to these words echo in your head. No close your eyes and listen instead. That’s where I am too, you can join me if you can. It’s a new way to see using your ears, especially when you close your fears. Tell, can you hear a tear? See then you would hear injustice fighting the neverhere. What. I’ve lost my point but that’s the beauty of it. The fact that it’s lost proves that it’s here or there at the tip of the pen. Because its passion not that, or it’s that, that led me here it’s the will inside that create from fear. Fear of never doing it again. Fear of not feeling it again. So I must all the time bring it, express it, shout it, caress it. Its all I can do, can you too. Is it realistic to presume such a thing can be clear. Found in the ashes of a golden tear?