Sometimes I am lost for meaning. It is easy to go to writing. Then I can explore the inner and not worry about the outer. i like to be a ghost floating high above my body. My body that gets tired and stressed. My body that yearns to be elsewhere where it is not. My body that demands to be complimented and appreciated. The ghost does not need any of that. The ghost does not want sugar or a treat. The ghost wants to fly and float in the ether. Starring at the life bellow, exploring its complexity and its simplicity. To marvel and to write poetry.
If love is the answer than what is truth.
I saw the movie “and Justice for all” a long time ago. It had an impact. It is about injustice, of course. Injustice of the system, injustice of those who work within it. Injustice of what is done to those who demand justice.
I started reading a book recommended to me, about writing. The author said that the good writers are usually murdered by the critics before they even get to become anything. They are sensitive souls. The writers that become something are usually egotistical pushy survivors. That did not sound just.
“Have you been half asleep and have your heard voices. I’ve heard them calling my name…. I’ve heard them too many times to ignore them, it’s something that I am s’posed to be.” – The Muppets, pure brilliance