On the Phone There is a middle line at which we can all call home; a place of rest, a place of comfort, a mindset that is at ease. We go up, away, high above it into mania and pray never to come down, but we do. And then, sliding on that slope into the depths of everything, some never come out because they lack faith in the promise of a middle line. Kinda circular instead of linear in my eyes, but this is the track of life. Then the reincarnate die, live again, die again, live again, and even those who lack that idea are born, live, die, and their matter makes up something new. New life, circular pattern.

And i was thinking about when I am going to die and how it will be a birth of something for everyone else. The birth of a world without me, the birth of a tragedy, the birth of a celebration, and somewhere a childs cry will sound and life will begin again. So to honor all that circular stuff that happens naturally, I want my death to resemble my birth. People can cry, people can hug one another, and mom can swear. I want the ones I love to be close enough to touch me, and I want to be naked. I know i can't choose to die naked, but I want to be burried or burned naked. I came without clothes, I will leave without them.


Its been a very very long weak and I am worn thin, but life is still _______  ¶ 6:13 PM