leaving it all

We may go
In the footsteps of the Dharma Bums
In the footsteps of Mr. McCandless
Hitch, dive in dumpsters, and sleep under perfect stars
Raise a glorious and defiant middle finger to the system and the status quo.

fear, realitY?
we'll see

Tonight is one for madness
for light in dark corners
and the spewing of soul wisdom
under white stars, with living guitars
dancing in hands trembling for joy

Tonight is one for reaching into chests
to pull out beautiful filthy hearts
to hook to one another's veins
to pump existence into flawed bodies

Tonight is one for raw experience
purest forms of holy communication
smiles and laughs and tears for the ages
great drops of soul-rain breaking down dams of kept in skeleton waters so the flood can free the land by way of beautiful destruction

Tonight is one for doors, not opened but thrown
with forward force off rusty hinges
cast aside like cares and burdens and evil hanging-over monsters of the responsible stale day that now shows its extreme lack of worth

Tonight is for me, it is filled with my longings, my red wishes and blue abstract desires
Tonight has a voice like a megaphone in my ear and it's begging me to come out and play in its vastness and joy and to bring those souls of my endearment along for a collective session of wide-eyed enlightenment, sitting at the feet of wise all-knowing Night and drinking her danger until the sick dawn-elephant stirs, until it raises its head to rise and still we laugh in its face, loving life too much to be anything but mad lunatics, proud of mad lunacy--

and perfection is in those waning moments, drunk with life.

ah perfect madness

We danced free with umbrellas and stuffed animals and small appliances and hangers and granola to the bouncing harmonies of the Of Montreal and then sat crosslegged breathing in the joyous textures of Sigur Ros and the silence while we meditated and then I read to my dear brothers the perfect words of The Prophet about friendship and everybody nodded in the low light and felt each other's souls. And the we made a beautiful apple crisp, ghetto style, using just a hot pot and talked about admiring things. And then we ate it, in all its imperfect glory, sitting around a centerpiece of the moment in which my preserved piranha ate my clock, called "Demise of Time" so as to express the intense desire for beautiful times like these to be able to last or live outside of time. We passed a bottle of passion fruit nectar, taking ecstatic swigs, and later made tea and sipped it in tiny ceramic cups. Jeff smiled and sat there bobbing his head like he does when he's happy or chillling and I could see that Steve, though behind his stoic wall, was being affected, at least, by all this amazingness. And we listened to music of all sorts and discussed time, joy and sorrow, and other random bits of life far into the night. And after all had quieted down and Jeff had gone and Johnny went to bed, Steve and I sat on the couch and felt each other's souls in the silence, once in a while breaking it to utter cryptic truths and shar struggles. I felt so close to these my brothers and realized that all this time I've been spending missing people not in my immediate life should go into deepening these relationships I have here and adding value to these people. I am working to lead people to be free and exposing life as beautiful in the eyes of anyone I meet.