bad-ass souls who travel with a small flask and a suede pouch full of magical talismans given to them by strawberry-skinned faeries and spell-makers with kohl as glasses, and we, the imbued, are cutting strings and growing roots. we snake our way thru the rampant lands MAKING ART AND LOVE AND A DIFFERENCE. *brilliance*
those who will bow as deeply to me as i do to them... Downtown NYC in '81... Paris as a woman in the '20s... sand... spirals and rituals... my demons for a spot of tea... intimacy and yet absolute SOLitude ... (((F.o.C.U.s.))) ... {{{{inspiration}}}... a cascade a yearned-for release... my words 'tween the weave of hard covers... the feeling when passing thru clouds in planes... space and time sculptors who churn aching rawness into Grace and the knowing of "Lawd, make me over", stripping me of any shred of boundary. I want steadfast lover(s) who read like braille the narrative of my skin and roll toward me in doused moments of sleep.I want to feel everything... and lay supine 'neath the surge of Divine desires.
qu'est-ce[?_?]que c'est
my anesthesia... anything with ex-pats or geniuses coming off their hinges or that pierces the veil of the assumed: (the original) Willy Wonka, High Art, English Patient, Amadeus, Altered States, The Wall, The Rose, Basquiat, Buffalo 66 and the ubiquitous Harold and Maude.
bob ross, sister wendy, Ab Fab
absolutely...
whoever sparks the revolution, spirit guides, ancestors and my (grand)mother.