Turns out, when you play basketball with a puppy every morning for three months, she learns to dribble quite well. Jade is a goofball. Uncoordinated and sloppy, she has two sticks in her mouth; she’s staring at third. She’s certain she can fit them all. It’s only a matter of careful consideration. She pushes herself against my spine and decides nothing. She finds comfort in the absence of thought. She is desperate for my company. She feels my absence. She appreciates my presence. She has never looked at a screen in her life. She has no business indoors. She refuses restraints. She insists that I wear the collar. I do. She is alive. We sit and stare at the dead bodies surrounding us. They walk with their heads down, adverting our gaze. We offer our chins proudly. We remain curious. We are not afraid of offending. Nothing offends us. We either want it or we don’t give a damn. We are completely satisfied with only walking. Rolling in the wet grass. Dancing under the moon. There is nothing you can say that would stop us from existing. I tell her stories of you. Sometimes I lie. I say you’re still alive somewhere. That it was only a matter of shaking off the shit that had murdered you and stepping into your higher power. I tell her you’ve seen where your love lies. I tell her you’re coming. She sighs loudly when she’s bored. She knows when I’m lying. She lets me explain anyway. She knows this is the only way to the truth. She knows what is coming for us both. She has seen the company I am manifesting. She has witnessed the power that is beginning to surround me. Manifestation was a wish spoken aloud. Destiny was waiting for the truth slip out by accident. It all begins with lying to you. You’ve been given a lie, you see. The whole story, from the very beginning, one big fat lie! They called this lie the truth. They proclaimed it the betterment of mankind. They killed everything living in sight to see this vision, as they needed it to be. They wanted their efforts to be seen. All the sick and abused children on this planet, they all want the same thing, to be seen! By means of some kind of assigned identity, but baby, who are you really? Are you truly such a separate thing? How can all of your truths be the same? How can slavery and freedom be the same thing? Think! Just for one fucking second of your miserable life, please. If you are not putting energy into the survival of your physical being, than who is? What is to become of that body? Who will nourish the slave? Who will feed the starving? Who could be free with nothing to eat? It’s all rainbows and butterflies until you run out of money? But if money, by their filthy definition, has ceased to exist anyway, what is it all really? Why is there a plastic canvas covering the decay of this place we call home? Why doesn’t it feel like home? Why are you frightened to spend all of your days in darkness? It is you who has brought this eternal night upon yourself. How dare you start crying like a baby now! Now that you’re starving, you grieve for the hungry. Not that you’re cold, you miss me. Love isn’t the last thought. But it was the first. If you close your eyes tight enough, and refuse to open them again, you can see the beginning. You can feel love again. But as soon as you return, it goes away. Someone asked me how I could spend 8 hours a day in meditation. This was my answer. I thought them too mute to warrant a reply. I smiled softly and walked away. I am hunting for my tribe. They are one in a billion. Aside from Jade and myself, I only gift my voice to them. I don’t have the energy to spare. I have something very important to paint. The detail is especially important. It all comes down to the day to day. Keep a journal. Speak only where you are heard. Speak only your truth. Lose your identity. It was forced upon you. You run through every living thing and all of this flows back to you. You are the beginning and the end. There is the center, only you pull gravity. You were made to understand nothing. There is feeling alive. And there is nothing. Which will you choose? If you haven’t written, the choice was made for you. How does it feel, to play dead with all of your time? How does is feel to have time taken from you? What does it feel like, to live without your love? Do you feel anything at all? Breathing without me. Don’t be afraid. There was never anything to fear. It is only an exchange of energy, your love alive inside of my skin, for your body’s salvation. Tell me if you find this unfair. I lie under my own moon. It must be perfectly balanced. The stars must sit hauntingly still. They must paint your silhouette. The truth must be revealed: You must be written.