**********************************The evening of 5-2-13.
The streets of San Francisco are alive with soundwaves: cheer and camaraderie, and gruff. And twisted blobs of light smeared around by the paintbrush of Time.
We forge ourselves around this fire...searching for love, or belonging, or entertainment.
The world is too much sometimes; when it seems like I'm in a sensory cocoon, being softly compressed from all sides.
The poets tear holes open in reality, wielding their phrases like beautiful scythes...bloody question marks cleaving into our soft-bellied expectations.
And my heart skips when I meet a beautiful girl.
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