I Spill My Bright Incalculable Soul

The Symbol Of All Art Is The Prism. The Goal Is Unrealism. The Method Is Destructive. To Break Up The White Light Of Objective Realism, Into The Secret Glories Which It Contains.

You Are My Sun, My Moon, And All My Stars.

Someone Asked Me What Home Was And All I Could Think Of Were The Stars On The Tip Of Your Tongue, The Flowers Sprouting From Your Mouth, The Roots Entwined In The Gaps Between Your Fingers, The Ocean Echoing Inside Of Your Ribcage.

Seeker Of Truth Follow No Path All Paths Lead Where Truth Is Here.

Since The Thing Perhaps Is To Eat Flowers And Not To Be Afraid