Saturday, October 3, 2020
On a morning the piano plays, fog outside my window displays. Across the skies, however, misting to rise with pressure. As trees be themselves, squirrels bury their nuts, and cars drive for errands, there’s a calm beneath awaiting fulfillment.
Who reads brave enough to satisfy such patience? Into graves of self righteous assholes is where you’ll find those who do.
Here’s what they’ll tell you:
“Pull forward young man for the fight is your catalyst. Upon the bell, let go of the warrior in prep to allow the warrior of determination to arrive. He, and often she, whom said individual could also be any selective gender, is the product of what you want. It embodies the future, reprograms the past, and executes now.
Because you do not understand, you must let go to overstand.“
For when the squirrels return to their nuts, the trees are reminded to remain growing. We’re here to capture such standing beauty amidst the fog. And create meaning around our fights to the grave.
The meaning is your drive, or the integrated vehicle housing your body and soul. This is what regulates above the calm.
For a self righteous soul is a fool, its fighter a tool, so it gets what it wants. You see, this is why the squirrel doesn’t need to remember where it’s burying nuts.
You are what you fall back into through the night.
And so the piano also played itself in this story. Good morning, good evening, and goodnight world.
Born and raised in Portland, Oregon, Budd writes to encourage readers to explore the depths of their inner ocean, an unexplored self, because it's fun once you get through the emotional part... "The words we speak become our vehicle; what you read is how I digest them.” -Budd