we are here
nothing we can do to prevent it
we are born, we exist, we disappear
sometimes we live
sometimes we, well,
we always seem to at least try to make the best of a situation

ideas are not original
they are gypsy fairies dancing within the minds of the masses
they are ardent, passionate electrical creatures
craving to be developed and understood by us; people, humans
and like the seeds of the dandelion
the idea floats through our life
until it lands in that one mind that allows it to grow

ideas are not original
only the person is

I know the process all too well…

a world changing idea that is so radical, so wonderful
i often dismiss it before I can form the sentence in my mind
i mock myself for the audacity of even contemplating
i scorn my childlike naivety for believing that I
as an individual
could ever contain the energy and power
to heighten the heroism of humanity
so, i bury it, delete it, drink and smoke it out of existence
because some ideas are haunting and just won’t leave
and my destructive self-protection
keeps most of this existence outside of my bubble

but some ideas are haunting, violent, just won’t leave

now is the time for art, not debt

days and nights
pen to page
fingers to keys
word after word
line after line after idea after idea after page after page after
scraping out every glance at life I hope to discover
i will still be a servant to an idea that is ready;
a pilgrimage to slow it all down
understand again, reconnect
using poetry to pry an artist from the suffocating binds of commerce

this is step one…

af

(written on paper)