I have always pictured a baby being as much work as my own personal Little Otik.
When I was very young I pictured God's hands in the womb molding and painting the jarring human gene project in combination with the metaphysical visions of the Mother. and Father.
Sometimes very late at night, or early when the Sun and the night's residue is crashing and the air is finally crisp, I can see myself in the encompassing company of an extension of my.self, I create fear after fear despite the comfort we find in the self absorbtion in ideal ideas of family, I wonder if I will follow the let on lead of my mother in sharing with my extensions in double helix DNA the world of Che, Benjamin Franklin's pretentious european cigar collection, Mao, and Guerilla Warfare without the cryptic patching of goodness, I can feel the simultaneous want to shade them from those parts of the conjectured Earth View for as long as possible or alternatively heighten reasonably real awareness.
And will I make them sick, my own passively passed down abusive trait? Stockholms, Munchinghousens. I am sure part of my illness is an extension of my parent's dissassociative stressed and ancestral abuse.
Lately, Atmosphere has been too histrionic for me.
Blue Flowers is where it's at!