The undead. | 16.11.22
Russ sang (2021) “Misunderstood, you only see
Pieces that fit your view of me
Your mind is made up, my hands are tied
Misunderstood time after time.”
I missed this, grape dreams high as grape trees we are the undying melodramatics that sit in the evening sky to hear if the world sounds different now, we see so much of its life on our bodies, the lines that curve our palms to the light hairs that gaze at the afternoon brief sun, welcome to Spring. During this time of year, we are most of everything and anything at once, we prefer to be called Spring in late November. I can hear the chants louder now, I can listen to our bubbly life crush like waves against the currents, I tell you I can feel it all. I mean I can listen to how my hearts feelings break with every gas-lit, I can feel my mind see the shuttering of possibilities of loosing who I have worked so hard to become at the sight of undying love, to watch as the operation in me the 33 reason just to be forsaken and granted otherwise; have we not died enough? I often ask myself now was there anything to save if there wasn’t anything wanting to be saved, burning more Cole, more Russ and Russel we have been finding ourselves too long they say to me -you have been anything but what I want you to be-, screaming with their mouth closed I think to say screaming with my mouth open. -I am no one but myself first-, reciting citation of nothing but mad mouths and not my mouth we have not been each other around each other, we have been hesitating to bare truth knowing this will not work for us. Our love does not stand a chance against our truth,- and so I ask, have you heard of the Spring in late November? Have you read her words and yielded their power for truth in front of fear? Have you witnessed to brave Spring bring back November from the wake of realms to present then you have not lived long enough to witness the rebirths of deaths. -A fearless spirit guided by untamed compassion.- There is nothing to fear here -I tell her, love.- Loves come in great forms and leaves a Spring in late November, we are the prophecy of its legend.
Russ sang (2021), “I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired
Of overexplaining myself when you don’t want to get it
I’m not responsible for what you don’t understand
Just for what I say and who I am.”
To my defence I missed this, grape dreams high as grape trees we are the undying melodramatics that sit in the evening sky to hear if the world sounds different now, we see so much of its life on our bodies, the lines that curve our palms to the light hairs that gaze at the afternoon brief sun, welcome to Spring. During this time of year, we are most of everything and anything at once, we prefer to be called Spring in late November.
Melody of Being Animate 