8 6 2015 | life ∞ love | chapter 62 — touch

8
6
2015

life ∞ love

chapter 62 — touch

———

“Touch,
I remember Touch…
Pictures came with Touch,
A painter in my mind,
Tell me what you see…”

Daft Punk

———

nyc
sunset
JFK airport
outside terminal
friends families
harmonious gatherings
depart/arrive
cityscape safari,
as in midst —

blondyn

watch on
solo
stirr’d to core-realm
depths O soul
w/ heavy heart’d typical
via
da dada-warp’d mind-bind
that “make sense”
the momentaryness
& translate as

sad

(profound plop @ that.)

felt ‘lone.
stranded.
detached from crowded atmos.
and how bad
(BAD blondyn)
to adopt 'n become
such an OUTlook
in face of new journey
he on verge of venturing

afterall,
was pack’d for SD —
hometown land
where sis to be wed
where friends families
harmonious gatherings
were likely to be
radiant
with presence —
some of which they’d likely shine on
blondyn

and w/ blondyn
having not been back
since he left for nyc,
upon seeing him
would maybe want to hear on
the story
of just where exactly he be @

(exactly)

feels he left SD a 0
& be right about
same quantity —
for sincerely
what hath he to hith name?
but experience of the road,
some novel he wrote,
and years gone by like —
all the same

“tho feel more out of touch…”

he thought 'pon this point
seriously…
some more, even…
and then reframed —

“no blondyn,”
he thought,
“not out,
but lost —
ye hath lost touch w/ humanity…”

here’s how—

in SD,
blondyn wrote a story,
then decided
NYC the place to deliver.
upon arriving,
however:
“needs refining”
and so blondyn wrote his story some more

in NYC
he
wrote wrote wrote
and then he wrote some more.
“almost there,”
followed,
“not quite right,”
he disappeared into writing some more

& all this writing
went on
throughout street-life —
an incongruent mode
when it comes to
melding w/ society…
turn’d out
write-write-writing
+
street-life-living
=’d
recipe
4
losing touch with modern world

wanna top that
sugar-yum-sundae
w/ a formaldehyde-soaked maraschino?
take a “no-facebook” stance
to social media presence,
hence isolate oneself
from the perhaps
most living/breathing part
of virtual universe
(hey caveman)

sun dunk’d and set.
blondyn stood in darkness
and took his time
(had a morning flight—was spending night @ airport)
meddling on how
write write writing
had been the singular vehicle
to disconnect his existence from the world

in darkness
he thought on this
hard,
harder yet,
reinforcing a manic
spike of depression
that knife’d to the point of
migraine stress-fracture
pinging him focal-wise
over + again
till reaching to
Third Eye depths of brow
like
lightning bolt
strike o Magic —

“no more —”
he thought,
“no more of this benumbing discontent…”

blondyn perspective’d

“you are @ the beginning a new journey
and right now
are going to overcome this woesome tyrant!”

(how tho?)

“starting now,
you are going turn it around,
via what has proven to be your own worst enemy—writing.”

(how tho?)

blondyn thought.
pondered.
did not give up.

“through power of the word,
you will emancipate
thy self,
by rendering it
thy outlet
for connecting to the world —
for helping to liberate
all souls
that could use
a learning or two
just as you mos’ def do.”

with that,
mind heart spirit
started churning
like butter
as slowly solidifying his stance
that his trip of return to the homeland,
was also to mark
his voyage to the human race

“yes,”
thought blondyn,
“to connect —”
and tho his sis
be the 1 to be wed,
t'was blondyn
who was already
attuning
his own vows
to
life ∞ love
via
touch
to
u

(c u babe;)

blondyn

blondyn.com
2015
CC