The way she looked at me seemed to suggest that everything I'd come to know about myself may be incomprehensibly wrong and hinted at the possibility of another reality altogether
There was nothing else to do but sit down and listen
The museum was closed and I was tip-toeing on a tight rope
As if the things I could see and touch were only a sparkle in the eye of something much larger
A note played from the organ and the sun set
Who told Marie Denise to break the world?
And when she did so, why did she choose to break it so perfectly?
There are two types of art
The first is that which causes one to see reality differently
The other gently tears through reality revealing a divine ocean of wonder previously hidden from sight
This was the second kind
I sat cross legged like a monk
I never saw her again
And what to do with this memory?
Store it next to all the insignificant ones in my mind like the times a bird shat on my striped shirt in Stockholm?
That doesn't seem appropriate at all
I'm a Dylan fan
I took mushrooms by myself on a Sunday for the second time
That was October and now it's January
It's winter in some places, summer in others
I can't tell you what I saw that day in the museum
I can only tell you I love you
Give that whatever meaning you wish
Because the swan doesn't beg for attention and the sun doesn't shine to be seen
It's all in the way it fits
How could I go back to LA now?
Everything was different and that night I ate too much at the deli and couldn't sleep
I had seen too much
It made no sense like a rollercoaster in the winter time
What more can I give you?
Give me peace, give me freedom, give me love
Good Lord, give me love