What the hell is goin’ on here? What the hell is goin’ on there? What the hell?… How’s that you feel the same, man?

This sort of vibedecoder decided it was time to go…On and on and on…As if it was friday all the time… Like you would have thought it was nice… Poisonous beauty of fingers’ gold… Those reflections I’ve seen nearby my face… Inside… A sort of insight… No lies… These confused metawords, these weird times I’ve found you into my world and you’ve born me into yours… I feel the shame, somehow, and I’ll tell you I feel guilty, anyhow… But it doesn’t matter at all. I’ve changed frequency to tell you I won’t step on yours… You’ve heard there was a kind of heartbeating behind the door, haven’t you? Is that why you’ve kept it closed? Well I’ll thank you, yes I’ll do it… The noise meetin’ up with your name was very loud… Have you heard it?…  I’m surrounded by it like I was on the Moon, in love with each stone on the ground… A sense of respect resounds as it was absolute.

The conditionin’ we all allow when we love and are beloved, well, I don’t know, it’s probably just a matter of words: how do “relationships” sound? Pretty real.

I’ve seen the beauty of hundreds glances runnin’ away one another ‘cuz the conditions were inevitably set, I’ve seen careful eyes becomin’ a rope too tight… Too tight while you’re swimmin’, too tight when you’re drawin’. I’ve always tended to go deep and high. Deeper and Higher. And it’s there, in that lack of judgment, on a dusty road, nearby the Moon, into a sunballoon, in a shared dirty room, there that I’ve met also you, beautiful hawk.

I’ve felt the conditionin’ of judgment and care growin’ ‘til it became friction and rancor so unfair… I’ve used to pull it out in words to then break it down and go back to simply love in a careful truth. No words then. No crowns. It works and it doesn’t at all. Sometimes it happens one feels quite alone, somehow. I wonder if eagles do too. I guess it depends on whom we’re relatin’ to… It depends if it’s only one to make the effort or both.

There are times we’d rather prefer to do not talk, havin’ to explain feelings we don’t even know how to listen to and nevertheless do what we should, tryin’ to make others a bit more comfortable with our inconsistencies… It’s a matter of value, somehow then, to tell us how much effort we all can afford.

Have I been talkin’ about love?… Goshhh. Ghosts. Pull me out. Push me down.

I was there on a dry beach, stuck for a while, with no shell as I’ve been, when such a whisperin’ wind came to me and the Moon so shiny started on raisin’ the tide, so high that doors opened up and thoughts started on runnin’ away… I’ve never meant to be and not even to seek for a tight rope. It looks like I’ve hung pics of my soul on the floor with a ghost’s rope that’s never been true. I’ve felt kind of injured. Misunderstood. I’m who I’ve been and although I’ve been changin’ now by now, cloud by cloud, I am still the same unsurfaced soul you’ve heard about. Or maybe not. It might be you won’t.

Denied control.

It’s been fallin’ into my veins like a burnin’ rain that freezes thoughts, words and images. In a meaningful word. Colorful black. Rainbow closeness. Blue the Substance. White the Essence. Red the Absence. Purple the Presence. At a stroke.

There are tears on the other side of a light. And words so wide. Sirens’ lullabies. Those waves you hide. Those you give away. Those you preserve for the rocks and the bay. Ready to break down the doors of time. Ready to fly all over the shit we all gotta manage. Ain’t a scepter your dick, we both know it. No crowns insideout. No bleedin’ queens in this tide so loud. Just a wheel out of sound. Untied ties anyhow. So tight. So high. HiddenOceans’ waves. Overweighted vibes. I silently care for you all anytime.

I’ve heard you don’t need anything, nothing at all…just be…carefree…careless. Nice taste these words, they can touch like a butterfly’s caress. Careful. I gotta go. It’s “the scream of the butterfly” I’d love to hear first. The touch, the shade, the tone of the stroke. High pressure bloody soul. Me fool nothing more. Gotta go. I won’t fight with words, not anymore, I’ll just give you my neck so that you can see-smell-taste the pulsatin’ vein that it hides, howlin’ wolf, and then decide whether I deserve to stay or not nearby this Moon. Like wolves do. And then shhhhh. ‘Cuz we are complicated rational beasts who sometimes decide to rather go. Rather go. Clean up your soul and let it grow. This is your year, once I was told. Go for it. Go.