The thoughts whirl in my head, not quite like clouds but something of the sort, maybe like this picture I blogged this one day. Or better reblogged. They’re all borrowed. Turned to thoughts in my head, meshed into a bouquet of flowers, green running like wildfire but a tranquil wildfire like the morning tendril of a cascading plant out the window. There’s these trees and a yellow house and there’s darkness in the house, but the light that pours through the window is always beautiful and it loves her so for eternity. There’s structure here but just an immense intake of imagery. The structure is imagery in itself I’d say. There is a divine, yes, but I think I’d rather swim in the ocean with a friend. Talk about life. Tea. I cleaned the house yesterday. There’s a real nice way about the house now. The light pours through my window, but my window is in my mind, and there is no window really in retrospect, it’s just light.