To come here today, on this day, for this day of my life. With cherry Pepsi and Marlboro Red and humid warm porch sunlight, again, but it is today. And with Pink Floyd’s “Marooned” behind. Can you imagine how beautiful? I am stuck, just taking it in. Amazed how. The future, needing scheduling, is still far ahead enough to wait. I and me and everything, more or less, is right here. I am right here, with you. And I wanted to say how good it is, that we can share this. Too often the socked grinding noize of sawlike worry blazes loud in the mind. You’ll try to sleep, it’ll not care. "(“Wot’s… Uh The Deal,” now—playing :)) I about this song can’t explain just how beautiful. I’m so fucking grateful, now. You don’t know how so-good you have it and then sometimes you get an idea. “So let me in / from the cold / turn my leg / into gold / cuz there’s a chill wind blowing in my soul / and I think I’m growing old.” Relax and also know, here, we can have it all. Right now with us, without needing to own. This too your whole life leading up to today so-far. Jank nothing to do, and I think: that’s what I want my life to be concerned with, from now on. Soaking up the presence of whatever’s good I’ve got through all this and sending it sharing it out on a line through the world. It’s a good thing to do to remind yourself you’re still alive and able to enjoy it. What is your dream? I can say, I have known some very good people, and I am glad. Just to be here enough to notice or to say it aloud in my mind. Just to have eyes and to have them see. Just to feel like warm currents brush, brushing, bleak itself going beautifuler every second the further the finer. Have for me too a sense of now in this and pain doing fine but standing up still saccharine hearts wavering like sent balloons. Busting down like a concert going on inside you. Moving like an enemy to yourself getting along. This incredible instrument of light gracing me. Psychedelic guitars from a vocal arrangement. And still today you or I having this between our selves, things to say, things to leave unsaid, this-perfect silences to share because that is a good sign, and it feels good, like it feels right. While my hands work on this keyboard to tell you so I can hear me tell myself. Coming in frequenter, dipping out to less-frequent, softening signals. Thrumming up and mellowing out like recorded distorted electric instruments in heavenly earphones. Concerted effortful progress to enjoy your very own experience of being alive. Dreams of one day how kind of like right now there will come a time the beautiful things around you just are, and yes, your headvoice will dip in and say things, dip out, but they won’t be all negative and egoist. It’ll be that rascal wile of the dark-side meter every founded soul seems to usher. It’ll be something observating, maybe a little sly, but just another leaf you let float at the end. Because yes, I can, yes, still remember sunlight on the water and float breath, warm on my wet arms and face the sky cut around cloudy by banquets of spangled leaves and others near yet far playing in the creek bed while I float watching the vertical, how it must’ve been like the most perfect bed you had to submerge into to rest inside. And now with all the modern freakout internal, zinging petric sting often in the past but today only a day after you walked out and smelled the rain on the clay and felt like the beach, walking to the station. Yes I can remember being aware something more and remarkably good was there a part of the physical world in my sight and like senses. Perfect tine petrified movement of mind because much too to take in and remarkable. Don’t forget myself remembers. Still, and do experience, because I have this—all this—right here, too. And I hope to what is best you have some yourself too. To if there is a God fathomable or not, to thank God for you and to hope to God for you right now to have some of this in your corner, also. Don’t trap yourself old ornery idle inside brittlely hard where your heart’s softness should be, though I myself feel that strain taking over much of the time and so don’t feel bad if you do. Don’t be afraid to look out and witness. So much of what this bullish sense charges is another danger sign, but it does indeed seem to have fun, too. Wrecked cars, wrecked bodies, wrecked lives—all you others perhaps a lot like me. Destined despair dripping in silliness. Sadness, all that. Not pretending. But also how fucking sweet must all this warmth feel coming in from all that frigid shittiness? How fucking able are you to really reach, now. This too, clear, now, somewhat. Going in and out of it. But not demit to sleep when just now there isn’t enough tiredness, I can be here. Having this moment without the most thought. Having it more then, maybe. Descriptions up to you. Please be OK.