just a quick one.
so I was reading blogs, and realized, the reading is always more enjoyable when I feel loved by the author.
often writing is beautiful, or adventurous, or genius unique like an aquarium maze, and I like it but not love it. I begin to tumble down the page slower, academically, instead of emotionally, or with real presence.
and thats! because I don’t feel loved. this is a new thought so what the fuck do I even know about anything #fuckbrian.
but I like thoughts so I spawn them no matter what! so the thought is love.
imagine, telling a funny story. you tell it all the time you’re pretty good at it. it’s about an old car, some waffles, and being dressed as an otter while meeting the president. so you tell your friends, your girl, your family whatever. you tell it good always, but not great.
you tell it great when: you’re telling your 7 year old son, crying because he’s stressed out and angry and can’t sleep. he says, daddy life is fucked! sigh. can you tell me that one about the otter? you say yes.
and then out comes a story made of love; exciting and fun (to entertain and enchant) but also compassionate to the listener, your son, because you want him to be happy again, to stop crying. with every word you use, all your thoughts are on him: what would he like to know next? what is he thinking right now? how can I excite this boy because I love him to death and want all the world for him?
you’ll tell it differently, won’t you? it won’t be like before. you will speak/write like a god.
from a heart glowing purplewarm with compassion, straight to the pages in purplewarm ink, that writing be it austen romantic irony, or emojized neotechnospeech, will be just~
-don’t you know how much I love you? don’t you know, beautiful one?- (whispers #shetheuniverse)
wonderful. uplifting. healing. accepting. yes.
so if I wrote to you now out of love: this is what I’d say: [jesus I’m all emotional] don’t be afriad. not ever. this world is painful, and scary, and we all act so tough. but everyone gets hurt, somehow. ah, but hurt is weakness, says the city. guilt comes in, then secrecy. suddenly feeling deeply is something bad.
some people are really strong, and it amazes me. me talking like this is not needed. but I’m someone who needs it. at times, I need someone to just say like:
fuck everyone else. I love you. I don’t care if you lie or crash the car or knocked up the neighbor girl whatever I just dont. I just love you, you fuck. yeah you fuck it up, but you always deserve love. you’re amazing in there somewhere. I have tremendous faith in that, and even more in you. don’t worry about the world and what it likes. it’s a fickle thing. but your heart is no trivial thing. god lives there, in the lotus of your heart. her language is an emotional one. you can follow it. you can listen to it, be close to your own heartbeats.
love who you are. do what you love, and if you fuck things up its okay it happens. everyone has complete bloody idiot moments. so forgive your mistakes. they’re not really bad. actually, no one has ever made a mistake. we forgive each other from the foundation of the universe; we really do. if we want to. I do. you’re cool with me and I love your dumbass to death.