The Heart Lies To Itself

It Is Convenient For The Old Men To Blame Eve. To Insist We Are Damned Because A Country Girl Talked To The Snake One Afternoon Long Ago. Children Must Starve In Somalia For That, And Old Women Be Abandoned In Our Greatest Cities. It’s Why We Will Finally Be Thrown Into The Lakes Of Molten Lead. Because She Was Confused By Happiness That First Time Anyone Said She Was Beautiful. Nevertheless, She Must Be The Issue, So People Won’t Notice That Rocks And Galaxies, Mathematics And Rust Are Also Created In His Image.

We Are Surrounded By The Absurd Excess Of The Universe. By Meaningless Bulk, Vastness Without Size, Power Without Consequence. The Stubborn Iteration That Is Present Without Being Felt. Nothing The Spirit Can Marry. Merely Phenomenon And Its Physics. An Endless, Endless Of Going On. No Habitat Where The Brain Can Recognize Itself. No Pertinence For The Heart. Helpless Duplication.

Being Alive Is So Extraordinary I Don’t Know Why People Limit It To Riches, Pride, Security—all Of Those Things Life Is Built On. People Miss So Much Because They Want Money And Comfort And Pride, A House And A Job To Pay For The House. And They Have To Get A Car. You Can’t See Anything From A Car. It’s Moving Too Fast. People Take Vacations. That’s Their Reward—the Vacation. Why Not The Life?

What We Feel Most Has No Name But Amber, Archers, Cinnamon, Horses And Birds.

Fame Is A Lot Of Fun, But It's Not Interesting. I Loved Being Noticed And Praised, Even The Banquets. But They Didn't Have Anything That I Wanted. After About Six Months, I Found It Boring.