My world is green, maybe as green as spleen, though I promised to search for souls and ghosts over here. I could ask the trees spirits to give me that hope…green is not faith color any more, it’s far more intoxicating for the senses. I feel vertigo looking at the high canopy!
Does imagination lies beyond reality? Does my ideas of that vegetal reality hide something far more troubling?
I feel the same in the end, lost in the blue ocean of late summer days, or in the green ocean of trees blossoming leaves in the spring of nature
These intoxicated senses can’t let me sleep until I felt down exhausted…in a last try to get me started but nothing can let me know that I have to let go of myself………..not even those damned instincts!
Sure my hair flows in the wind like a barbarian, and my feet are dark of dust, but I can read and write…so?
I do prefer identification to nature in order to skip the human cultural identification. In the end I do get closer to my primary instaincts, and these bear no cultural sense
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