For a long time I stopped having conversations with the waves that break by the seashore. Now we speak heaps.
Some girls on the beach look like fish out of water. Their bikinis are often too tight, or too loose; and herein lay the problem for Man.
Medicine streams through my ears and into my soul — that’s just where the wire leads, apparently. It feels empowering because it reminds me that we’re all gods, doing our best in utter perfection. Most of the time.
There were a few blank spots from last night that I feel to have been quite healing; though I might have just had a really bad time and forgotten what really happened. But they’re the same, those. Same-same.
When I help you and you help me we aren’t helping each other, really. The thing is just healing itself.
I look silly with this bike helmet on, but the air against me and the sun beating down seem not to worry about silliness—they’re so silly, so incredibly absurd, that the bike helmet just doesn’t really seem to be worth noting. I still feel a bit silly though.
Love is everywhere seen. If one is more aware of this, there’s very little need to lash out. There are reasons for mirrors being extra-terrifying while you’re on a psychedelic substance.
As I sing this song, even as it comes to an end, I feel the effects of processes. I feel better and so do those around me. We feel lighter now.
On the beach, people are afraid of groups of middle-aged people with lots of tattoos, especially if they’re drinking beer. It’s okay, though; they’re generally really nice. Like homeless people.