Dear Gotosh

There will always be tempests of change.

Weather and its parents - the seasons will travel in,

wear their wears. Place themselves in your environment. And sometimes you may restlessly wander upon the landscape.
The crackle of leaves rustling beneath your feet.
Fleeting squirrels bustling aimlessly.

With each sunrise, a sunset had begun.

the cycle continues...hill, slope, plateau, hill, slope, etc.


It is in the clouds that the meaning of clarity is realized, as one can not know good without bad.


Still waters breed tidal boars, if not in your today then always a tomorrow. Your best choice is to wade through the current, raincoat on back and wearing your finest Sunday shoes.

You will never know what you can come across, however permanent, however temporary.

Evil comes in all shapes and sizes, but largely are the result of bad decisions. Pause, pick each step. Your right, then your left...legs alternate between the fates. For in the wisdom of those Fates, you're right, then you're wrong.

Angels descend from the heavens providing beckoning and longing for purity in man. They swim about the abyss that is your dreams and dance across your guise in every waking moment. Most of them only want to take you with them, but are not aware of the trip required.

Dive in these pools with no inhibition, yet know the pool is shallow.

Melted ice and burnt rice only come when you don't have the time in life for the things that are important to you.


Dream life, live dreams.

Your 1 year reflection

Some nights you will awaken in stirs.

Your bleary eyed vision of the room around casts you into a vortex of imbalance, confusion and dizziness.

Aim left of center.

On the somber mornings, when cloud cover follows your shadow. It is then that it is always hardest to look forward to the day. No sunrise to watch,

unaware of the setting sun apart from the absorbing darkness.

It is this time that trees bear themselves to the world. For they shed their cloth.

And this fine linen of the earth lay in tatters.

Discoloured, drab

The search for inspiration in itself seems tiresome. Motivation seems twelve times harder to engage.

Unquestionably, it is the event that casts the inspiration which truly is the holy grail. Sometimes unattainable. It comes with the currents and rescinds like the tide. It is passion that brings inspiration about. In my time it was thrown into girls, sports and books. All of which led me apart from the other. Nothing truly united this or remained permanent. My inspiration had hung in flickers.

It could be a miraculous notion to find permanence in existential elements.

The gloomy days that I describe can take complete wind out of your sails.

Their needs to be the constant, truly unconditional inspiration that keeps you going, barrelling through life, getting better, running stronger. Don't seek this in anyone else, seek it from yourself.

Nowadays, I see how you think. I watch you search. What's inside, impacts the outside.

For everyday that nature casts its sad eye on this world, you are still whole.

There is always a parade, always a funny clown and the heavens that shine down its stars upon you, whether veiled or unveiled.

Be it the Legend or Be it the Name

The deconstruction of the hero

Magnificence denuded.

Threads of costume

to

Threads of DNA

Leave all to be.

Whence peace was of man...

And burdens were left to beast.

Triumph was myth

And Valhalla reserved for only epic.

This despondent warrior

Shanghai'd on ship unknown.

Await horizon

Wake upon landfall.

23^rd hour, 31^st night.

Whittle down beneath the facet.

Forever there will be challenge

Forever misconstrued

Delve not for those that seek light,

But for those that need it.

Paradise is for the lonely.

For posthumous notoriety is never what it is.

To be studied,

To be dissected.

Washed ashore.

Feet tangled amidst thorns, seaweed

And malevolent odds that volunteer...

Waves with whispers 

and 

Winds with shudders

The mind, akin with the heart and the clothing that encases all from skin, inward...

Feel strewn across beachheads, reef ridges and seabeds.

It is the composition.

The assemblage of all.

To reconstruct

Find spades and axes to till the soil and chop down obstruction.

Make for land.

Sponsor the enemy with affordances

and 

Then guide them like lemmings to cliffs unknown.

When it is the dark night

And all battles have been fought.

remember

Be it the Legend

or

Be it the Name

It is the same light from whence we came.

Evaporate

And the world has now changed.

Things that were lived for in the past are now no longer.
And there is more rhyme to reason.
Call it majesty.
Call it science.

Perhaps the inner functions of being are to procreate and invest every waking breath and every rational element towards the promotion of this life and its progress through time.

The torch is far from passed.

but

it has begun.


In each lullabye.
In each calm-induced moment.
In every sleeping breath
And every waking cry.
There are pieces that will be shared and then given.

For their is no eclipse, without a moon.
And no tide, without the waters.
No prince, without a kingdom.

And no me, without him.

What is whole, translates and permutes into another.

When I evaporate,
He will be the cloud that collects my waters.