Everything feels so complicated and messy and dirty and ugly, my mind a spinning wheel of barbed wire and dust, my body a temple for rats. The world is a junkyard filling up, a horror show, a bloody bare-knuckle fight between naked, sweaty teenage boys with everything to prove, everything to loose, everything at fucking stake. It's a madhouse, it's fallling apart while I'm searching my pockets for change, it's falling apart while I take out the stinking trash, it's falling apart when I'm draped around the toilet, coughing up carcass upon carcass of rotting ideologies. What a malicious work, what an outstanding achievement, this, for humanity to make such a clusterfuck out of gold, to paint ourselves into the corner of goddamn corners, to use the dirtiest needles to screamingly inject the cheapest fucking crack all the way into our bleeding fucking hearts, I mean, what the fuck. All I ever fucking wanted was to kiss you, you know. Hold your hand in mine. I just wanted to kiss you. Walk next to you on the street, share a coffee to go on a green park bench while we make up the weirdest stories of the people passing by. Hold your hand in mine. I just wanted to kiss you.
This is a calling to slow down and listen. To take a deep breath and explore our personal connection with Mother Earth. The feminine and masculine, the beautiful and dirty, the real, the messy, the sacred. Once it was natural. Today it feels crucial.
For the next 100 Days I will write a book to the Earth. For the Earth. With the Earth. The book, and the journey, is also to you. For you. And with you. Together, we are everything.
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