6/4/2020 to 7/8/2020

6/4/20 -- 2:34 AM, High On TES, and Oats.

“From A Husk Will Feed a Fortune”, I showed her once, but I wanted to show all of you. I’m not sure why that comes to me, asleep in the Godhead. Memories leap through time. Laying dormant for years

6/8/20 -- 10:50 PM, Mikgazer vol.1

Something about a Red Boat. A story about a red boat. I haven’t been to many places. Only seen through a couple of eyes. Do you know what I mean by that? To see through someone’s eyes? To see outside yourself. I wrote that somewhere once. There’s nowhere to hide. You’re always being watched, by yourself, you know. But in someone else, you’re safe and sound.

The red boat didn’t mean anything. Sometimes you’ve just got to start somewhere just to start. The thoughts come as you go. Writing is a form of thinking, you know. Speaking is a form of thinking. Singing is a form of thinking. Thinking, not so much. You’ve got to transcend thought, surpass potential, to make something real. Potential isn’t enough. A thought isn’t enough. Write it down, speak about it with a friend, give it a good name.

The words write themselves. Do you find it hard? Do they not come to you always? You can’t force it. It’s like a cat, OK? It’s feminine. It’s flirting with ideals, with beauty and perfection, it’s attempting to be understood as it’s thought.

Masculine would be going out and doing, actualizing, lifting the stone, cutting the tree.

Feminine is the will of a nation, wood for a village, stone for a crown.

What on Earth am I saying, that doesn’t make any sense.

6/11/20 -- 1:21 AM, Off Me!, Slauson Malone

Hot Smoke, Warm Smoke

The Preservation Of Candles, The Hoarding Of Candles

6/16/20 -- 10:59 PM, The Message 2, Slauson Malone

Don’t be shy. Write some more. There are people that love you. You’re not a bad guy. You know that, they know that. Some people are just spiteful. It’d make you sound stuck up to say you have a stalker, someone obsessed with you, who won’t leave you be. “If I can’t have him, no one can” literally. But that’s all it is. But you can’t say that. Why? Because you feel like it makes you sound stuck up, like an asshole. But that’s all it is. And that’s what you need to say. You’re afraid people won’t take your side. People will think you’re a bad guy. You try so hard to be delicate, to spare others feelings. But they don’t have that same consideration for you. Oh well. Love bravely, love unashamedly, love proudly, like you’ve never been hurt. I’ll always do that, I'll continue to do that.

7/5/20 -- 12:23 AM, Pyramids - Lost, Frank Ocean

When you feel like writing, you have to write, try saying yes, obeying yourself, when you can, that voice in your head. You’re guided by your surroundings, the music, wind, and weather. Thoughts flow downward like rain on the side of a house. Thoughts rush out like water rushing down a gutter in a rainstorm. This is a poem, a friend of mine said there’s no end to it all. The number of comparisons we can make. Who has compared candles to cars? Or spiderwebs to shoes? There’s all sorts of things to think about. All sorts of things to find out. This is a poem. This is where we will do those things, make those comparisons.

You’re 22 now, by the way. Happened June 30th. Right wrist broke the day before mother's day, in May, you’ll be in your cast until August. Yes of course you feel like a failure. You’re not letting it bother you. The world’s in shambles anyway, you concern yourself with more important things, like looking for love and daydreaming about your future farm. You’ve already got the names for your three horses all thought out too. Have you written them down anywhere? You’ve told them to quite a few people now. Allow this to be the first time they become immortalized.

Cairo, Hushmoney, and Babytalk. You’ve got to say it with a southern accent, that sweet tobacco molasses drawl. You’re not so bad at this you know, writing. That was a pretty little metaphor you made there. Good job. You’ve always got to address them in that order too. It just sounds better, trust me.