Life has something lovely for us again.

KYLIE WOON

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In the dream I am flying, holding on to an old shoebox. Below me, the interstate is an ape with two heads, one at each end. I go over the underpass and under the overpass. The interstate is warm-blooded and has opposable thumbs. When I stop to rest it is Phoenix in 1947 all over again. I am in a hurry to catch my mother, or death, or both. I am in a hurry to escape my mother, or death, or both. Whiskery old men who smell of gin stand in long lines for soup and Jesus. Tribal drums pound, they are echoing in the dirty downtown streets. I can hear a saxophone that sounds like John Coltrane. When I wake up I want eggs and bacon. When I wake up I want my old life back. The shoebox is heavy, but I am not going to open it. What would be the point of that? It's time to fly.

james lee jobe

If you don’t try to translate an experience into words, you simply have the experience, not thoughts, sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touch—they can all be experienced directly without words.

Bhante Henepola Gunaratana, “Do Thoughts Ever Stop?”

KYLIE WOON 

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Sometimes death remembers the sick child, sometimes not. We are building the wind with watercolors, it's easier than it sounds, easier than dying. We don't get to know why this is happening. We get some of the colors from our own lives, and we borrow the rest from the lives of people we know. It's like building a fire with fresh pine wood, the sap sizzles and pops. It is like going down inside yourself and pulling up the truth by the fistful. You when bring it to the surface and look at it in the plain light of day, the truth is often fucking ugly. The wind is red and green and purple, it blows and blows. The child finally closes his eyes. 

james lee jobe

No pride for some of us without liberation for all of us. 

Marsha P. Johnson

I SEE YOU

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The clouds today taste of milk and dreams. The strength of the sun shines on something silver in our wings, and its reflection is beautiful as we fly. The sky is a friend and this is a fine visit. Every perfect thought is a moment of creation, and creation is a gift to us, the beings of light. Come now. Life has something lovely for us again. The clouds are delicious, and they are calling. here, taste for yourself. There is plenty to go around.

james lee jobe 

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