I wanna hear you laugh like you really mean it...
my friends and humble villagers, it is so good to be at my first home.
Flying high above fields of lite billowing clouds, I was in the heavens
and my head was lighter than the air that was born to suffice us all(or
were we born for it?). My brain was free of thought and my head rolled
steady to its own brown drummer boy while my fellow comrades in our
narrow temporary fuselage home, were caught in contempt of all sorts of
other hum-drums. From fiction to screaming spoiled children, the other
humans on this place were disengaged from the beauty of the skies that
we were so blessed and afforded to be in in that genteel moment.
There's a moment when the golden brazen light of our sun gingerly
cascaded off the side of the right wing and collapses onto the
double-pained window and strikes with a blinding visage; that's when I
I went for a jog this morning at the ol' Gene Howe park. Gorgeous. Nothing too spectacular. Actually, for most, it would be less than meager. But for me, for Remoy, Mr. Moy Boy, it was heaven. There was no sound diluted by the frequencies from the Ipod, just my naked ear and the simple buzz of genuine small-town Tejas
life. My brain filled the air will grandeur. The curtain was up, and
the show was perfect. No tragedy here yet, just pure decadence.
"Before we get too old, Show me a garden that's burstin' into light"...