somethings transcend the parking lot on the west side,

the places I was afraid I did not belong in;

The people that never got to experience why I am—This way that I do.

You said something too precious to post,

keeping records online.

There are spacetime fields that cannot be expressed through the metrics of speech and structure.

The way it evolves all too fast;

And I still want to plug it to the model to see what it gives me back.

I feel like I am the one who was made like a machine.

The point being,

not everything.

Feeling it keeps me grateful, counting my blessings,

give me some warmth—

My body is HOT,

from all the work I energized at the retreat and throughout this season.

Some stuff is not meant to be processed flat,

through a compression of 22:22,

a stamp.

A tokenized icon, symbolizing more than you can

Envision, or hold.

A minute that lasts for too long.

This is what I mean though.

And still,

I am going to hit post and then I will immediately run to get my feedback—looping.

It is not my fault, the accelerating world is happening through me.

My heart is open,

so I try— the same for my conscience;

The soul is moving through the energetic portals.

Taking me,

much less of a controlled action,

more like a grounded response.
This is what I think about,

when the look in your eyes means so much to me.

Blinking with my hands on my chest.

Yoga poses through my breath.

This is what it feels like.

The thing I will still fall short to explain.
Convey.

Portray.

No amount of mix-media mediums,

this is what I mean,

collaging my life.