Lying under the night sky, clutching the sleeping bag tightly to 
capture the body warmth generated between me and my companion's 
closeness I stare upward.  We are the kids in the pouch of a kangaroo (our 
Earth), who, bouncing through her environment (the infinite universe), 
carries us lovingly along.  We are learning to balance on a circus ball and 
coming to know more clearly day after day the vivid reality that many 
others may perceive to be insanity.

* * *

Learn to unfold.
Paint your picture for me and I shall paint mine for you and we shall visit 
each other's world.
Hopping discs of time and matter, let this time carry us into completion,
so that we may become bored with our perfection and dissect ourselves 
again - just for the fun of it.
We'll pretend to forget that we are God, you and I, and everything else,
and that heaven is what we create for ourselves, just as is hell.

* * *

	As children we dream of the perfect house, the perfect partner, the 
perfect job, the perfect life, the perfect heaven.  Tossed into the world we 
find that which we do not want: pain, lacking, fear, regret, shit, remorse, 
"bad" things.  Now we think we have failed, but it is actually the bricks of 
these discoveries of things not we believe do not fit into our heaven that 
allow us to build the walls of our perfection.  Trust me, I'm the insane one 
with the vision.  So rejoice in your tragedy for you will never escape the 
loop and the deeper you dive the higher you'll be flung up into the cold 
and bright air, out of the womb, into the sexual completion, into the trip, 
into the death and the present.

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16 Renford Road (four)
Page 24