word vomit. mind tramp trash.

The INFJ individual is gifted in ways that other types are not. Life is not necessarily easy for the INFJ, but they are capable of great depth of feeling and personal achievement.

michigan seems like a dream to me now.

it's the sound of a voice that says, 'HERE I AM, AND FUCK YOU IF YOU CAN'T UNDERSTAND IT.'

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, made to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars...

and DANG do I stand and reach and yearn and bellow! this is a stream, a river of consciousness racing through me and coming out my eyes as i try to see these words forming on my screen, on your screen. i feel a tingling within my body that i don't think i'm producing on my own, it seems to be coming from somewhere else and i am simply a receiver of information, translating the messages into a human language that will still go completely misunderstood. RAH! i'm alone out at sea and my skin and bones act as my vessel. who knows where i departed from, and GOD knows i want to know where i'm going, but at this moment floating on emotion, all i am are these racing vibrant random exploding fluid words lackluster in punctuation

i've walked barefoot across ocean beach and i've stared out across the pacific, i've trailed up the coast while watching white globes of fuzz from the past dandelion blossoms float abound the pebbly path carrying wishes, and now, where i sit, i have golden gate bridge with a perfect white sailboat beneath it but a little to the right, and these waves... the most beautiful, enforcing yet pliable, majestic waves stretching across an infinite blue and gold plain that sometimes slide into the rocky beach like sex in silk sheets, while at other times they crash and drum against the already diluted boulders, making the sky and peace around me jerk up in fear of thunder and lightning on a clear day.

i cry in my sleep because i can't get back to my past, my carefree and open and loving adolescence. i miss it like you'd miss a loved one who was kidnapped and never found, and you're sitting around waiting for a long awaited conclusion to an infinite, pageless book. in the days of humid summer nights and long runs and hoods of our crappy little hand me down cars, my friends and i lived free and wholly in our dreams. treading close the those memories strikes at my heart strings like a harp on C major and all i can do is cry out the vibrations.

i must get back to living in my dreams. i must break and crack open so i can go back to smiling at strangers on the street without fear and a backup plan. i want to hug the air around me, no matter where i am, and feel uninhibited with joy. i want to beam out the lost soul within my skeleton so that others and anyone can see there's still a light on in here ---

---i'm repairing, refurnishing my heart, and i hope to open up completely again one day. soon.

it's just a little depth and burning dreams for your tuesday's deep dark afternoon.