It's the kind of day

[thedarksiren2]

where I wish for nothing more than to sit and float feathers, spew heavy buddha on mushy brains and get slapped back by just the same, with smiles and hugs somewhere in the midst of it all.

I could sit here all day and write/ read/ explore thoughts/ ideas/ concepts, etc. There's a cool essay contest going on at OU involving interdisciplinary work, open topic/ length of essay. I was thinking synesthaesia intertwined with the MRDD population.

I have no idea what I'm saying.

Sometimes
Nothing makes sense
even when everything does.

Comments

[wraptboy.livejournal.com]

It is that sort of day. All my feathers got lead tips that make them swirl and dip through the breeze.

[thedarksiren.livejournal.com]

the clink and clank of their weight touching trees and concrete between breezes must be terribly beautiful.