Youniverse

in front of me is an old fire hazard sign. it was kid-napped off a speeding train while bandits were chasing me. three dried roses, the ones the beast never showed the beauty, are in a bottle encrusted with sapphires. a miniature of an unknown duchess and a blue daschund gather around a river rock to whisper secrets with a jade buddah and an indian goddess. a box of warming lady bugs awaits a lonely tear. if you listen real close, you might just hear faraway places call from their frames. ‘vieni, vieni a casa.’ two tickets to a fairy dance on the third full moon of the year are resting by my pirate ship. her name is the virginia birch, and she only sets sail to ensure peace. monsters rollerblade through cityscapes, and crickets serenade me while mandarin orange peels are sprayed into the air. happy memories of touching foreheads reach out to me and offer smiles of the past. i take them daintily, and set them on the window sill by my very shy tree and my invisible dew drop fish. half of george washington tells me that work is for a sunny day, and that i should go outside and play in the rain with the bird man and the lap dancer, the lady pilot and the hippie daughter. the other half is never present to tell me to stay in and be normal. a boy infinitely smelling a scentless flower tells me to mince my words, sit with a tree, light up a dark place, go to the ends of the earth, defy gravity, or just to visit an old friend. i have a glass full of possibilities, come brush a masterpiece with me. hum along to bands whose names we eventually will forget, but whose music will leave haunting traces on our minds. my own world comes to me naturally. my world of bamboo spoons, and scripted fans, and an old fashioned alarm clock suits me just fine. i ask why quite often. sometimes my heart gets broken, and sometimes i find out about the sex lives of clowns. i need a knife to read parts of shakespeare, but only to cut the pages. overdue library books, painting naked women, and poetry are constant aspects of my life. i miss the familiarity, pun intended, of my family. i would travel across the world to see them again. actually, i kind of have to. i have lived in many different places, and that is one thing i don't ever exagerate. i bite my nails and speak italian. nice to meet you.

i am curently listening to when in rome, vampire weekend, beirut, & billy holiday.

my heros are my brajia (Andre), van gogh (Since 4th Grade), gandhi (Civil Disobediance), and hippies (Is Love Supposed To Be Restricted?).

i like swing dancing, ruth bernhard, & dreaming.

i am learning to philogag, ninja, and cope.
would you like to have tea with me?

the (Peaceful) possibility of aliens, (Sincere) shower singing, (Somewhat) writing prose, reading everything (Excluding Bad News And Other Peoples’ Essays), every colour (Including Puce), art (Full-Stop), (Expensive) magazine smells, (Purposefully) messy rooms, olive fingers (On Both Hands), (Preferably Hot) tea, warm milk (With Honey), (Bare) nakedness, (Majestically Twisted) trees, (Home Made) mud pies, (Delicious) body scrubs, tobacco (Smoke), (Thick) fog, (Fresh) air, (Wonderfully Incessant) rain, (Ghost) dancing, (Midnight) futbol, (Dried) flowers, (Daring) adventure, (Long) nights, (Thunder) storms, (Summer) citris, (Love-ily) hot skin, (Daring) jumps, (Late Night) swims, (Fast) beats, (Slow) songs, (Quiet) kisses, (Spontaneous) laughter, and never (Ever) good-byes.



If You Are A Dreamer, Come In.
If You Are A Dreamer, A Wisher, A Liar.
A Hope-er, A Pray-er, A Magic Bean Buyer...
If You're A Pretender Come Sit By My Fire,
For We Have Some Flax Golden Tales To Spin.
Come In!
Come In!
-Shel Silverstein