Midnight 9-11 Run in Manhattan, I miss you.

300 words Entry Three Midnight 9-11 Run in Manhattan, I miss you.

I’m kind of fascinated with faith. I have so much of it, so much of the time, it’s devastating when it leaves me, or when I tire of carrying it sometimes or take it for granted and set it down and then the faith is gone. I have to call the Devil: He knows a shit ton about the absence of faith, by the way. Sometimes the farthest from is the only natural way back. When faith leaves I notice I’m left with nothing, or something worse than nothing, it’s Hell. It is the absence of that Power, that Cosmic Consciousness, it is the abyss, it is The Depravation of Everlasting Bliss…(oh Meph!!!) Oh dear God.
Or maybe I’ve still some residual STAR in my eye left over from the accident in 1995. . .I want to be experienced, well, I am. I want to be a poet. Well, I am. I want to be in love. Well, I am. I want to be an artist. Well, I am. I want to be, well.

I want to be well.

I’m good. I’m on the subconscious dream machine, there’s red opium in the dresser drawers there’s still time to catch the last cosmic Night Train outta here, there’s still sheets over the mirrors there’s still sheets on the couches and on the artwork stacked along the walls
this place, just let it be; let the earth take it back I don’t want to build my life here anymore.

But I’m ———- here ——— building, my life.

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