The Beauty of Gifts

I have:

Given To Others

And Received.

IT is now my favorite season. I have new crystals from Salem, days of pilgrims and life-or-death harvests, when men relied on co-operation.

I exist to have as expansive a life as possible. Death will come, with or without you trying or seeking to avoid what one longs for.

There was a body, but there was no murder. Time is rolled up there, in the wet vastness of the Atlantic. I can feel it. I can feel all the way to England.

I side-stepped time. While away in Maine. I am being serious and do not mean this in as the way of a metaphor.

I bought a beautiful purple and black mug from the satanic gift shop! One of my favorite new things ever!
Music bridges time and is a force of good and never evil. All music is natural. I guess all evil is natural, too and no one ever says, “aww, why don’t you guys ever give evil a break, man?.” And you know, we should listen.

Since I write so much, my punctuation

A whole bunch of faces on the wall. That’s what freaks out a lot of people. Any arrangement of that, and you’re fucked for gentle ambiance.

I was gone, in one form or another, for 7 days.

My psyche was unfolded, effortlessly. It has a lot of history I can read because on a primal level, I am cured of my discomfort of physical living, and so I can interact more surface-level rather than belowishness. It doesn’t bog down my bones. It lifts me with its luxurious Atlantic winds. It is utterly romantic (can I say that to mean non-sexual, but it a way that makes one romantic for the subject: objectified. It gives me the energy to walk for miles through the woods, looking for wolves; followed by foxes and crows, but the crows only want to know where I go, they don’t expect they’ll get a chance at feeding from my uninhabited body any time soon.

Frightening me into life and away from sleeping, things are perpetually unfolding through the dark and into my experience.

It’s hard for me to write this all day; for I am obliterated on thc. I don’t know if the percentage of thc really matters for me. It is almost 60% thc (not to be confused with thicc).

I felt like the east was fully populated by the middle-aged. And I liked that. They were utterly respectable people. People who knew the fine are of “let us mutally agree to fuck off from each other, eh? And I liked that. (My hosts were incredible, and they say they made it happen, all this mystery-fear-deliciousness during this bizarrely thin-veiled time of nearest-dimensions.

I really loved the people, and it felt like the very best parts of Northern California or Oregon (but probably more Washington-like, though I have never been there).

Healthy looking old people. Which I could and hope to be. I have to realize two very true things: I have a good chance of being a happy and healthy old person BUT I HAVE TO DO THE THINGS if I want that to be my outcome. So, it’s not an option anymore, and that is scary. I have to take action – and I, my god knows, I am a fucking procrastinating bitch.

I drew some things on a mobile app, on my good paper, and

Listen to this, please; it is really special.

I read a little bit about Chet Baker, and his is an interesting story.

Am I a very bad person? Do I do my good deeds because I’m trying to balance out my ogrishness?

This is a totally wonderful work of art (song and video/performance)

I went in to a bar, and I could not look anyone in the eye. I looked down, and hid behind the people I was with. Why? Because I am not comfortable when I am not alone.

More later. This could take me the rest of the year.

Author: Jen Crow

©Jen Crow. Be sure to ask for permission to use my artwork or photos. I warmly welcome comments and questions.

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