writing has always eased my soul. but when times are confusing and wrought with oppositions, does it help me then? should I bother? and where is my mind resting when I don’t or can’t write? sometimes I wonder if everything is as it should be or if I can make it better than it all. beauty is in the eye of the beholder and bludgened relationships are blindfolded backwards. sometimes I wonder. . . magick is my only friend [yet lately I have felt a distance. . . not for long] it’s still there but it hides in differnet times, in different places and guises. some people have said that the mad have a unique connection to the otherworld, alternate universes or states of being. I believe that those who are on the edge of their own reality are truly able to connect more to the “true reality” (there are various definitions, e.g. Piet Mondrian’s work; quite interesting) and that includes psychic issues, the occult, magick . . .etc. the time for sleep has come, my eyes are falling. . . forgive me.
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