disembodied, entangled, at the edge of the astral plane; i have my throat, its cords letting loose the disemboweled vomits of my souls tearing, our two spirits separated only by trauma, reluctant to the spell of the universe, inhibiting evolution of ourselves and the natural movement to produce intelligent life through out the universe. we procreated love from garbage, from our trashed mitochondria there sparked life. i love you forever
apathy is danger
the passivity of nothing
time flies why don’t we
take our time
when all we have is time
to focus to lift to wit
spirits
activity is acreage
the money left behind
the system is inside the mind
I would like to think spirits are a positive force, not a negative one. We think of raised spirits – drinking spirits – good things – so why not the same with “ghosts” or spirits. Angels? Watching over us – protecting us?
These devils keep hunting me but i know i have good spirits that look over me and i’m so happy to be alive on this earth ! i hope that i continue to bring good spirits onto this earth.
“Hold still” She snapped, grabbing the other woman’s arm tightly.
The blonde’s breath hissed out in pain, her face white and damp with sweat.
The brunette poured the brandy liberally over the wound and began winding it with gauze.
“I’m not sure that’s how that’s supposed to work,” grunted the blonde.
Spirits that haunt us, past memories that refuse to leave not just our past but our present and future. They take the form of our fears, our loves and regrets, our passions. And the thing they have in common – they are stuck, as we are
The spirits in the sky shone down brightly on the old gentleman. He lay on his bed, awaiting what was to come… He knew that the spirits would look after him; he felt at ease, peaceful even. He slowly drifted off into a slumber, that he wouldn’t wake from.
She lifted her glass in the gesture of a toast, which made him laugh. The bar was frothy with noise, lit dimly but sweetly in the summer evening. It was perfect. All of it. She felt the wine catch in her throat a little as she studied him, awash in love.
My spirits are in a strange and liminal space. My mood blinks back and forth like the negative of a picture blinking with the picture. Neither is “positive.”
Play a board game with me, love – or two, or three. Whatever tickles your fancy, really. I’m in high spirits, drunk on pear and cinnamon and ginger. I’m floating on a cloud with armrests and an ottoman, and I’m waiting to hear you laugh as you get a triple word score, or you sink my battleship, or you achieve the ultimate monopoly. Then, while the night is still young, we’ll remain young, too, dancing like children, smiling like strangers, and kissing like confidants.
disembodied, entangled, at the edge of the astral plane; i have my throat, its cords letting loose the disemboweled vomits of my souls tearing, our two spirits separated only by trauma, reluctant to the spell of the universe, inhibiting evolution of ourselves and the natural movement to produce intelligent life through out the universe. we procreated love from garbage, from our trashed mitochondria there sparked life. i love you forever
apathy is danger
the passivity of nothing
time flies why don’t we
take our time
when all we have is time
to focus to lift to wit
spirits
activity is acreage
the money left behind
the system is inside the mind
I would like to think spirits are a positive force, not a negative one. We think of raised spirits – drinking spirits – good things – so why not the same with “ghosts” or spirits. Angels? Watching over us – protecting us?
My spirits. You will think what is this. And I’m not sure. Is it what you follow or what it follows you? Anyway, it is always by our sides.
These devils keep hunting me but i know i have good spirits that look over me and i’m so happy to be alive on this earth ! i hope that i continue to bring good spirits onto this earth.
“Hold still” She snapped, grabbing the other woman’s arm tightly.
The blonde’s breath hissed out in pain, her face white and damp with sweat.
The brunette poured the brandy liberally over the wound and began winding it with gauze.
“I’m not sure that’s how that’s supposed to work,” grunted the blonde.
Spirits that haunt us, past memories that refuse to leave not just our past but our present and future. They take the form of our fears, our loves and regrets, our passions. And the thing they have in common – they are stuck, as we are
The spirits in the sky shone down brightly on the old gentleman. He lay on his bed, awaiting what was to come… He knew that the spirits would look after him; he felt at ease, peaceful even. He slowly drifted off into a slumber, that he wouldn’t wake from.
She lifted her glass in the gesture of a toast, which made him laugh. The bar was frothy with noise, lit dimly but sweetly in the summer evening. It was perfect. All of it. She felt the wine catch in her throat a little as she studied him, awash in love.
My spirits are in a strange and liminal space. My mood blinks back and forth like the negative of a picture blinking with the picture. Neither is “positive.”
Play a board game with me, love – or two, or three. Whatever tickles your fancy, really. I’m in high spirits, drunk on pear and cinnamon and ginger. I’m floating on a cloud with armrests and an ottoman, and I’m waiting to hear you laugh as you get a triple word score, or you sink my battleship, or you achieve the ultimate monopoly. Then, while the night is still young, we’ll remain young, too, dancing like children, smiling like strangers, and kissing like confidants.
She was in good spirits now that she’d learn to forgive.
How had that happened anyway?
It couldn’t have been just the yoga…