In the repository of silence, I hear words flowing out of my body like bells voicing out of the rustic corridors of the neighborhood church; unstrung, unheard, enchanting(?) sinking into an internal vortex of unchained syllables. let lose; sliding through the magnum of old structures. old structures that reckon new smells, like a freshly preparation from the daily molasses of same, stoned bakery. savoring freedom so to summarize.
The purpose of a vacation is to reverberate sight and smell of newness in your thoughts, which amusingly i attain here. In the absence of human dystopia, the tic-tac clamor, of herd and heard.
Solitude redefined, painted in fine absences of brightly red and flashy pinks. and grey strokes inked in dotted whites of silvery clouds. This painting is devoured by no intellectuals in their salty criticisms and sour presumptions.
'change must come from within', triggered by changing skies perhaps. my babels lay conciliated in pleasant exchanges with the vocal wind. As i holiday in the old structures, feeling anew, afresh and aroused.