I am a fan of Deepak Chopra, and he was on Coast to Coast last night but I have to admit that his speaking voice over the radio is TOO monotonous and mellow and I found him to be a really DULL speaker. I also didn't understand half of what he was saying (it was all about the soul and most of it just went right over my head)...Oh well, I still admire him, but I was sort of disappointed that I felt bored with what he was talking about.
Ok, I think it's time for another stream-of-consciousness attempt. Here it goes:
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Arts and crafts made of dried macaroni and shells. Pink and Purple glitter carelessly trampled into red shag carpet. I see baby seals balancing red balls and leaves the color of pomegranates. Scotch Broom grows wild along the roadside in Washington State. Most call it an eyesore, but I love it's bright yellow bushy self. Green eyeliner and eyebrows plucked by a thirteen-year-old using Scotch "Magic" tape. I hear a sound that sounds like the inside of a shell and the beginnings of an ocean. A lighthouse is out there somewhere, calling me in, tempting me against it's craggy rocks. A bloody sheet. A pan of water. I see a lifeless, blue infant held stiffly in a midwive's arms. I think that dead infant is me. I died along time ago and that I was I have so much fear in this current life. I see ravens sitting in trees and secret tunnels underneath boulders that I have heaved to one side. I see birds of paradise and I smell copper and dirt and dust gets in my nose. I sneeze out ribbons for Christmas packages and I taste cinnamon and allspice. I wish my name was Ginger or something warm. My cousin is named Ginger. My cousins tell me they love me but I don't feel like I know them from Adam anymore. It was another lifetime in which Ginger and I pretended we were Mick Jagger and Keith Richards and that Ruffles were "Druffles" (drug-laced potato chips)...we used to pretend we were on Fantasy Island and were allowed to be felines for 3 days. We crawled around grandma's house meowing. The old house across from Grandma's that is now a new house. The way her kitchen smelled of chicken stock and the frozen grapes from the freezer she offered like candy. I miss Grandma Marie. If I go to County Cork maybe I can find her there again. I sometimes think about whether I'm an old soul or a new soul and then I wonder why I'm thinking of these things and not looking for a job. Black construction paper and tissue paper flowers hanging on a wall. Red leaves floating around the backyard like little devil ghosts. The communion host and now this is all Catholic bullshit. I could quote John Lydon, but I won't.
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The End.