(MELLOW BUT EXCITED) RAVING,
talk incoherently, as if one were delirious or mad;
speak or write about someone or something with great enthusiasm or admiration.
You can breathe out the moisture of your thoughts, and the sound of the sun merges with the sound of the mountains, clear like cold air on your chest in the nighttime woods without fear.
There is light in all inside and outside and everywhere, we are breathing light and we are smelling it into us, from us, all and everything remembers itself. I remember suddenly that the sorrows and pains of life can be looked for, but light stays forever inside, and the sudden unstoppable overwhelming smile lingering from the depths of you.
And is an emotion real or imagined? Pablo Picasso said that Everything you can imagine is real, and that has stayed with me for so long. Don’t make a difference if it’s imagined, you know it is all. Feelings such as this, the sound of mountains in your head, and the sound of the sunset thrumming through you when it is in viewing distance, and looking is never enough until you realise nothing will ever be enough. I fidget and glow together. And with light, not always it comes in great surges of almost dizzy rememberance and happiness, not quite ecstasy, or maybe I haven’t felt it yet, or I remember it differently to when I was feeling it.
It was the morning today and the sunrise was unended and faintly you remember anxiousness too faint to hold onto. After you might remember more. Hungry Heart plays on the playlist of one, and I turn louder and I keep watching the sun and the light as we go up the hill slowly and I forget that we could fall off the side and I don’t have enough time to drum for it and the sudden surge almost immediately comes and takes away from what could be flat but probably just flatter, suddenly all you remember that is immediate tired but real jubilation, and dizziness encases you but you are also free, and inside you you feel huge, expanded, into everywhere and anywhere, and the Feel of Jersey Girl when Bruce Springsteen sang it deep happiness not up there but also up there, and you feel happy softly in fatigued love. And tears began to form but did not fall, but sometimes they do, in gushes like the cotton tail of a white wedding dress long heavy thick only when you look close down the cliff, a waterfall, and when you zoom out it is small and like a person falling off the danger.
Then there is the heart of pain, and the mind of knowing. Sounds like an idiom, and huge Feel sounds are like an idiom are they not?, I just thought it in those words, but pair it with the lingering gaze of your heart when you can’t look enough at beautiful things and you photograph it sixty times and it’s all so same and hard to differ after the time has passed and you are in the future of that moment and it’s anxious wanting to stay there forever.
And I think this is what my rave is about, admiration for what I feel, what I know, what I want. There is less fervency in these words, perhaps I feel tired but also perhaps more this, I want to write it coherently in the way I fully feel it. Like the sixty photographs that happens so often I have over forty thousand on my phone, I do not want to read it and not understand what I knew then. Of course someone in every mind is everything you forgot, but you cannot take it out without the right key. The key is time, the key is emotion and the key is surroundings, and the key is everything. If the everything is not the everything around you then it is not time to remember. It feels unnatural when you want to remember but you must, I must remember to remember what is now and not before because I am bound to know it strong again. Déja vu. And so many of my wants are intuitive and inherent natural knowings. There are no reasons I can write. Also I don’t want to write them for fear to stop feeling them that way. Will I feel like this tomorrow? I remember the glow I had or imagined I had, and I remember light always when I am suffering. I never go to bed now without kissing and hugging and happily speaking words of love and seeyoutomorrow to my mum and dad.
Where do you go to my lovely when you’re alone in your bed? Where do I go? I go within me, I go everywhere, and the notions of dreams being truths, like Joseph’s dreams are truths, and truths are also the passed ones,
And to not think of theologies and ideologies, Robert Mapplethorpe said he only thought to be a good person.
