Often.

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My mind dreams, and I see sugar plumbs dancing in my dreams, and she always seems to go back to a specific post.  Now, is she looking at the whole thing, certain videos, or the comments section?  I have my suspicion that it is a specific video and the comment section.  I am not only a bad man, according to a tone deaf irreverent quickly becoming irrelevant world elite.  They don't want me to like, or want to be with, women.  They want the world to die.  So, when I let it be known that, if in a grave, I am spinning in it, due to want and desire for a woman, they have problems.  Is she one of them?  Or is she... delighted, or even just mystified as dames can be who want men to just be nice?  I won't give it all away, my suspicions.  Just one song, from that set anyway.  It seems to... mollify her?  Take no offense, unless you will it.  None is meant.  I'm just putting two and two and three and one and seven and two together, then going with it a bit.  You, for today, because of thoughts, dreams, and daydreams, are the muse de jour.


I have drifted through life.  Along with the sort of women who drift.  And I have drifted with the love of women that is more ideal than not.  It wasn't, truly, me being good or bad.  I simply didn't have a way to slow down, to settle down.  Oh, I did give it a fair chance and lost everything for it, that could be lost that way.  Mostly I just wandered, and women seemed to find me as I found them... in need... for moments.  Nothing good or bad or mean meant by it, for my part.  As I have mentioned, ghosts simply cannot love, only attempt to recreate what was or should have been, for a time.

My nature, at times in the past, of good and ill, from suffering and hunger and want...  I stopped, at some point, believing there was a point to it all, or a way out.  More animal than man, and lean.  No matter the gamble, and even finally in full surrender, I just couldn't, didn't, die.  I suppose, not just nature, but even God abhors a vacuum (proof that cats are loved by God, and nature, by the way:).  So that, eventually, He would call, even... command... at least a bit on that latter.  He had to win to earn command, but that He could, and did, do.

Yes, not sure what my point is.  Only that it was interesting reading her comment through other places she visited, and thinking about the other times she went there.  I may get her, sometimes, about as well as she gets me.  Sometimes that is right on, sometimes I am so far off it is a joke.  Still... I do what I may.  It's how I do, too.  Does the painter ask the flower if the flower thinks he did alright?  No, but if he could, would he?  Does he set out to explain his thoughts or actions?  No.  But, again, would he if he could?  Only if he thought it might means something.  In this case, the flower can speak.

Just rambling through thoughts and words as I wake.  Later.