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dream of driftwood | pennypampers's Blog


It's a strange world we go in. And strange world we go out of. I find I am here but I am not here. I am of the world and not of the world. Light and dark. Soft and hard. Dream and reality. Life and death. I find the world is a simple place with simple pleasures and all of seek something to dream about and something to feel about and sometimes we don't realise that is just a dream and a wave of light and a dance and a song and then we are gone. I me mine :) I do not know but sometimes I can hear myself speaking to myself and a whisper leaves my  mouth and I can here it echoing down the hall. And we are all different and we are all the same and some day we will all be gone but the world shall carry one. And leave us be our secret silent sorrows and the dream of being and the being of be and song of crash. I oh my. Ah. Let it be, let it be. The day is come so let us be. Secret sorrow and download dream and cookies scream Cookies Comb and Jacobs Ladder. We will be we will be. All down and up and out. The sorrow chambers will echo and bleed with our our song. The day of coming and the night of going. And something different and something blue and bon balm. You believe yourself to be alive and might well be but things will and things will not be and somewhere inbetween. I use to work in the hall passing ice and answering lights and I thought I was there for a reason and a place to be but no. That was not it? I can look back and see myself cracking up and it's not really good to crack up because really no one wants a cracked person. It's a dream. I found that I could hear the cries of the departed before they departed and during the day I called out for smoke break and rolled out the chairs and the flame retarten bibs. And I would bring the trays and sippy cups and the eight ounce bubble soda. I don't speak the language...hmm. I awoke to see the fire in the eyes of the day and the lord of the night and the indiscression of progression. And in congress the birds, the birds...a flock of seagalls and driftwood smiles and rope a dope and pristine smiles and smokey eyes and thought was simple and it could be no other. That we would be simple to be and loving to be and the night would be and somehow we could see into ourselves and outside ourselves and yet we see nothing more because me are no more. And all the while the show must go on. It's strange and it's believeable and concieveable and almost deniable. I found myself in a rainbow room on a infinite daydream. los cubos de hielo. On the witness of the bee and sting and the grace of the face and the rain that is coming down and the dream down the drain and brain drain and the foundling and dreamling and observer and the denyer. The cries in the dark. The scream from the bed. The light going out and all the while I can see that no one knows what nose knows. Everything was a dream. And so the song goes in the light of the forrest and the eve of the mountain magic hop. In the mirror I can almost see myself and it's a laughter and it's a scream and yet just a dream. Okay. Okay. Okay. Go away. Not now but some other day. Awake Awake Awake. Not now but some other day. Everywhere little cameras and phones that don't call themselves phones and whatever happed to the telegraph and what ever became of pop corn....767 and four numbers of any kind and the voice on the end would tell be what time it was and I can see that somehow everything changed and I woke up one day and the time had come to pass and.... Hmm. In a dream of driftwood. In a frenzy of ties. In gaggle. A murder of crows. And everything was simple or could have been. I know I know I know. The day will come when all that was will just cover the space and we will not know it but everyone will know it that was the joke. In a dream of driftwood the historical truth was uncovered and burried again. And we are all aware that it came and went and the disco compacto... somewhere in my mind is a cut.. a song. I believeable truth masquerading as a lie. If you hear it enough will it be true and will you understand the words that issue forth? bow down to the dread majesty. It's a wicked world. Ah. The dentist that pulls out the teeth and wears a mask to hide the dream of the driftwood smile and the mirical mile. And we wil be that we be and some how maybe just once see. I walked the hall and brought thickend liquids and passed refreshments. Is this what is called living? Oh gosh. The mind simply slipping away. But now it will be in technicolour and we will have proof that we were here and even if it deleled it will be out there in some strange way and that really is sad because this is really not the medium to bring forth light and truth and togetherness. And the call comes forward and I do not understand. It's just all some empyness and everyone says they have the answers and everything is crystal clear. Oh gosh. Don't believe that.  And the time is just the time and it is no time and it is what is and not what it was and the driftwood empire dances in the falda. Fashionista. And heroin dream and come down quick with the low spark of high heeled shoes. Ah. Scream. Quiet and be. Just brush your teeth and smile and smirk and let moon doggy out of the house and into the dream of ocean and sand and dividing lines and horizontal drift. no puedo. :) pennypampers

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