Wind is totally unpredictable. One could argue if wind even dominates “presence” on this Earth. Or that the gravitational pull of plates shifts the tides of wind in a monopoly of nature. As if everything “has it’s purpose,” but realistically is always happening in one on-going long con. If you don’t wake up in time, dream time is a momentary bliss. Is there wind in dream time?
Exercise: we all open our windows on a windy night listening to gusting sounds that gently nip our lips by breezes just light enough we become the air within, engulfing out dream time in a powerful, narrative way:
Maybe it was in an e-mail. Maybe some sparrow. TRASHLORD JAMS (sutured evidence mixtape) definitely a museum of intricacies. Maybe eeli is new love: