http://www.lyricsdepot.com/lauryn-hill/ex-factor.h...

i repent i repent
loving you is too simple, i have to make it hard
a ray of hot beams
you  come through me
incineration at the core
there is no one in the world but us
i might regret these words but delete them i wont
truth is how you felt this day
a poet at the hands of fate
whatever you say goes
because your a righteous brother
you never mean cause pain
its all the same to me
the wicked up and down of it
nasty emotions some frown at
nothin too crazy or uncaged for us to laugh at
steal these quotes we'll be famous someday
because now is right now and i know that your love i have
not to wile time away
but to trust in everyday
i am sayin to you
take me away from this irie paradise
were that living was cruel
i would do it all for you

..tr> ..table>

you make playin the game seem so easy for me it seems one forward, a quick backslide, and a reroute How im feelin aint  easy to discern major breakthroughs come off of complete meltdowns when im choking on my own emotion regarding some slight insult you didn't mean to add salt the lack of explanation usually takes me to the edge my resilience flat fails me falling over the footsteps that will bring me home Time to find the weirder more unique way to say that love falls like november rain awakening and empowering you must not be seeing Truth is, ugly builds character and my love can be hazardous and ugly but birthing is a pretty mess so put away those ideas that we can hide anything  from the shining face of reality Truth is our animal arrogance cannot predict the future but assures a safe distance keeping us from it. Squash those lies of our own brilliance with which we explain ourselves to ourselves we are all the same watching eachother going through these lives as they were a plank to dread and doom  walking into death with joy is more easy walking into the face of the reaper but you say it is not typical of you to worry you've never seen an issue through to completion on a worries wings fear does not envelope me i can see order and joy stronger, by far love is everywhere gratitude shall be my calling card stranger than truth is the reactive energy surrounding us Let is define as energy let our world be bound in the burning smothering strike of hot and angry hard unrelenting unrepentant love.

Currently listening: Rastafari By Sizzla Release date: 2008-03-04

I want something artful to come from today.  Letting juices trickle through the webs of my hands.  Easing my breath into temporary transportation on a spiral one way ride.  Stretching my outer thigh into each step cut short by the cement.  My voice trucated by the sound of the cities eerily unchanging pulse. 
We should think of how things were before all this transmutation and translation of our languages took place.  I have more than I prayed for...Time for some humility.

Don't try to rebuild the world without our imperfections.  That is the main problem with existing.  Not so much that it is brute and short.  But that the realization that life is satisfaction, takes about 42 years to learn, and that the education was always there but it must be learned again with every kiss of the new sun.  Having a partner telling you it is okay to redream the same one or build new dreams on their shoulders, helps too.  Offering blue veined hands, tentative strokes that make the skin waiver uncomfortably, the catch in your breath that you charmingly don't pretend to hide. Or are you trying to captivate me again? 
Because you really don't have to get my attention when I feel your existence bumping around on this ancient sphere.  I am watching you in the mental cutting room floor only finding my own ego. with carefree desperation keeps me answering my phone and willing it to be you.  Hiding a little dissapointment when it is not.  My cyclops eye betrays my selfishness.  When the transformation is complete the psyzophrenic tendency momentarily retires.  Then I become the listener's Maria.  The one they want to discourse but not intercourse.  No, that is revered for exactly one person.  And he will let me rebuild my pure dreams even after they are abandoned like a third world baby, or cried into a weepy mass by my shrinking violet psyche. Together we will rethink the majesty of architecture. Stumble and blunder beneath the burden of a single word's meaning around an endless search for salvation around the pillars of the highest ivory towers. The brain  betrayed us and can be harnessed as a beast to take us to Zion.  We see the same in eachothers deepest black pupils.
 plummeting for the ground I know...that he knows...that this is real.  Don't watch me fall.  At worst he will bid me good fortune and walk the rest of his way down his own path.  From here the forward adventure seems most appealing.  I will bend my orbit, do what it takes, stay aware, be love, what more can I tend to with you?  When you have my limited concentration you can say that you have me.  We are building a boat to scape to strange shores. We are always loved by one another. Agree that those aberations that stand in the souls  illumination, will never carry the distinction of lies. The cause of our love is proven every day, wouldn't you agree?   (it would be on Judge Judy in a minute Bitch so don't you do me dirty). 

Here is to all the beautiful imperfect people. These lessons are like rabbit holes. Lately I am lost and stumbling under ground...But it is refreshing to be building a life for now. I have a lot of tools and time management skills. I come with my pedigree papers and being fly helps. For now I see fragmentation everywhere, fractals that will rebuild to make a whole. This is a big aquarium people. Lots to look at and love to grasp with all of your senses.
So hard to sleep with the rustling trees. Hard to see that space is far ahead enough to construct in the moment. Some straws I reached out for were too brittle and time worn. The lovely faces I have seen and the kind words are my fuel. I am blessed with a mess to erect a building that started with only love.

The demons, shiftless as they were, grew angered at my snare.  Like a bee in my pocket angry thoughts threatened to gasp on the air they found there.  Reassurance waned as illogical thoughts consumed the life I was drawing on to defeat them. I hid my breathes behind impatience and bravada as I waited for the marauders in my mind to lose the scent. 

Static on the old am/fm honed in on a Mantra of pseudo positivity, which had come to define my mental life.  The thought of the tiny scraps of bored time, like a seamstresses useless remnants, were strewn for me as gross reminders to discard as I  flinched at their unshrinking boldness.  Were these reminders that i had failed at an easier way, a kind of punishment for my lack of agency.   Was retooling necessary in my life, a repercussion of ambitions lost long ago?  Was the chorus of regret a nightmare that my psyche insisted on replaying?  This discussion with myself foreclosed any happy thoughts that would have required more effort on my part to acknowledge. 

Joy, although not yet an easy friend, had seeped through the torn curtain that stood around my true relative purpose in the world.  Yet I had eschewed the sweetness of my nature for a solitude inspiring fortress.  My life was an abstraction from a day dream, had at a dead end hallway.  The window latch was out of  my reach.  The weak autumn sun, now perforated with clouds whistled along the tree top that swayed in and out of my view.  The familiarity of voices and the graham cracker smell told me my reverie would end with the heedlessness of lives buzzing around me.

This imagery was a firearm of resistance.  It seemed as fresh and true as a mother's generosity or learning that the largest figure of fear in one's young life would not arrive home for another grateful 24 hour period.  The insinuations could cease. The accusations that all others lived glamorous lives that knew and discussed my sore lack of worth now were tricked into taking the orders of gravity by sloping down my current layer of consciousness to reassemble their small army on the trek up. 

As a human I want reality to be more real and intense than skin and bone, abysmal failure and triumph, and outwardly there should be no imagined chinks in my armor.  And yet every flavor is doomed to destruction and eventual filth, every hope has an end, every beauty reified has a terminal point because three dimensions of sight make it so.

This snapshot is of the impossibility of life to be satisfying.  In the push and shove between the Reaper, the Ghost, and the self righteous kamikaze pilots that try to show me my life without a cartographer sketch, I lose my grasp .  My gritty fingers resourcefully stretching towards hope.  It seems as though my mental forcefield may collapse with effort.  My hair is greasy my skin is bumpy...there is a atmospheric weight that I can feel in my cells. 

I reached the heights. Perfect; forever-young memories before I knew better than to greedily tiptoe to relief.  I sneakily beg the stack of books to hold.  I clutch and perfect these recollections more with every year of regret.  I want to change what used to be, reverse the autumn coziness of being the falling leaf.  Icy but flowing, now a rock hot with the sweet summer sun.  My ears strain to hear the timbre of a friends voice, that I have mistaken for other than me.  My canvas has a limit...I am only part...everyone else lends their beauty..... But troops of depressive thought have not lost any rubber to the pavement to this motionless wrecked train i call life. 

These lessons I have earned are more Ivory than Dr. Bronner's.  It is not in the effect these self soothing words which require understanding, but the chemical makeup of the abrasive substance itself.  If you focus on the scent you will never detect home as all aroung you.  Excusees, blame, guilt, ad retribution are the things we should know not of.  A war of the self mutilates and destroys just as easily as any abusive member of society.  Authentic, that means always trying to find the beauty, right?  However, I have become all too comfortable with spontaneous hijacking of my self efficacy and ransoming of my good will.   My attitude can belie the fact that I will a united force, a unified frontm and a certain reality of homogenization, rather than a fractured and confused one that secretes dreams as a scent for me to locate.

The tone of reasoning approves of all panic states as well as errors.  But the demons are the heresay of many years of  boundary making that dissected so much of my past.  It is hard to get rid of the fishing line even if it cuts and chafes your ability to do the authentic "you".  But not knowing to hunt a scent of home you are different from your joy..a state that is painful for the soul and reduces the human spirit to a suffocating writhing premie babe. 

Having a stifled development lowers one's expectations of others but allows your demands while on earth, increase.  This stack of books, some not even cautiously opened, threatens to spontaneously combust while the standard bearers of classic literature threaten to lynch and shame. 

I am naked in this square, that is not bad.  I have needs in this infinite universe I will never be the master of, is not so scary.  I will never be able to color coordinate as well as some humans, that is tragic but I can deal.  I keep trying to adapt.

Everything waking up refreshed...I nourish...I will flourish...I am here to witness beautiful things....I will attest to the warrrior in this moment where souls seemed lost and in despair.

My summer day of leisure yielded a great cosmic truth.  Now I know that while perhaps the sexual imagery of Julia Childs and 007 are rather tainted by his cadish ambivelence and revolving door of intimates, and maybe Julia is a bit too built and shrill to meet his refined taste in women, give it a thought.  It was revealed that the Office of Strategic Services, OSS, forerunner to the FBI, enrolled 28 year old Childs who was recently released from a furniture store.  I completely empathize having been serially fired.  I find work after a two month span and then am quickly given the boot.  Is that rebelliousness, immaturity, difficulty with authority...All of the above.  So she may not have been a certifiable heiress upon her transition to a Francophone lifestyle, but true to the Bond girl priorities she had a way with sauces.