Always return to writing. Don’t be scared. Return. Return to zazen and sit with the suffering, say hello. Get up close instead of always on the run. Don’t flee.
You can see their faces and how they wear themselves down. It’s in everything. It’s the system. It’s readily available. It’s easy. It makes you sleepy. It’s the poison and you call it the shit.
Trees are filling with ash. Telephone poles notice. They light up and fume. The future is caught up here. Poles are the future of trees, and a vocabulary remains dormant. In just a couple years they will begin to speak to us.
Tell us about patience. Tell us about the calm. Tell us how the man came to rob with his friends and his friends brought machines terrible with teeth.
Level. Look. Clear meathooks. I put food back in so much so the poison overflows out like black ink until it’s gone like I said was gonna happen.