Have I been telling stories again my love? Forgive me, and really do please, no story I could tell is as great as those which lie quietly and loudly but presently manifesting within me, this world, what we are, and so many world’s of perfection that emerge and pass with no notice or need of notice. Unities I can’t describe, and so I throw away my words. Sometimes I wonder why you gave me words, so many of them, such passion to revel in them, when they have passed on, each one, the moment written. When words become things they weigh, and I, I attempt to swim away throught the loose air of touch, sent, sight, movement, no more black characters on blank pages!! See green. Touch soft or granular. Smell rain or earth or cinnamon. Give me a job, please, away from a screen so I can return to word’s creation fully without drying up in so many two dimensional worlds. I long for the mountains.