People who create bleed ink.
Or their tears are filled with mascara and stage powder.
There is such a sense of theatrical surreality to the world of creation.
To me anyway, this is more real than the world around me.
Perhaps this is what it feels to be autistic.
To feel that the world around you is but dreamery.
Whereas inside you.
This is true.
Unwavering.
Unchanging.
Inherently good.
And everything outside our skin is dubious. Unstable. Quivering to shamed silence.
About Me
- sharron and jaeson
- we clang about the pots. They echo like a thought. I kiss her like a paint smear. And all my loving is artful. Then I taste the flourescence like an autumn inhale. It all feels like spring and winter all regrowing and disintegrating at the same time. Cold. Wet. Conflicted. Sublime. I write all this. Making up for lost time. All words and pictures on this blog is original content. Jaeson Iskandar Copyright. Sharron Martin Copyright. Alive Right Now !!! (P.s. poems or words by other people will be acknowledged.)
