On Being Painted Over

I have lived many dreams-come-true in my life, which is an accomplishment, after all. Let me say that up front, so as to remind myself of the fact. Dreams can be lived. What you long to find you will find.

What I am is an arrow, a beam of light. My eyes aim. My mind aims. My interest and attention aim. I am an instrument that measures my perceptions against my desires.

What is an animal but a perceptual device? A window for a god to look through. An idea, caught in the ether and unable to take form, rides the life of a bird, a girl, a snake, searches for it's chance to exist.

The world of forms is a world of windows and ideas. A world of passages.

What is an animal but an alimentary tube, with a mouth on one end, asshole on the other? A slave to necessity. Equipped with senses designed to promote survival. Prodded constantly to move, to get, to have, to let go. Tricked into reproduction, or not. Life promotes life, after all, without favorites. Let us celebrate the embroidery of the plain facts with pleasures and inventions.