The weather has turned cooler and gray hangs over us, dome shaped. I sing as I pack my bags to get out of town. Riders on the Storm. Jim Morrison is my newest obsession because of his poetry. And his face. God that fucking perfect beautiful tragic tortured face.
I am troubled / Immeasurably / By your eyes, he writes in The American Night.
Couldn’t you just die.
I need the ocean. I need it all over me and crashing on the sand. My love gets out of bed and walks past me naked, sandy blond bed head hair in every direction. Black coffee and warm kisses. That crumpled space between sleeping and wake.
It’s just us and it’s quiet as a faded linen afternoon. I sip my coffee and watch out the window as the sun begins to break through the mist which whispers along the trees.
I don’t know if I will write while I am away. It is a strange thing. Sometimes I never quite can settle in when I borrow someone else’s house. All the coordinates are off somehow and my senses get mixed up.
My body and mind need a break from whatever bullshit they call reality. Lately it’s all just too much. It’s too much rush to get back to the things we used to do that didn’t make sense even then.
The birds are chirping but I have not heard a single cicada despite all the hype. People keep warning about the deafening sound. They complain it’s constant, the maddening buzzing which surrounds them from all sides.
I want to tell them it’s not the cicadas.
But they probably wouldn’t hear.
Allison Marie Conway 
I adore how this piece of yours wraps up, by the end. If it isn’t the cicadas, then it is what’s occurring in your mind. A table set with all the things to feast upon, from whatever you dreamt of, to who is now before you.
Yes, the world is full of shit. A “reality” they like to call “Heaven”, at times. An escape… a bliss…
We all just want our own version of it.
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What a beautiful comment you have shared with me, thank you so very much for your thoughts. I am so touched to know you enjoyed this piece, that it brought forth some deep reflection for you. ❤
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Ah, the ocean… the salty breeze… the sounds of singing cicadas (if there is none perhaps it’s too cold for them to get out of bed so just imagine them lying in beds, sipping coffee, and complaining about the weather…)… the sand that tries to swallow the feet… the initial freeze felt when the ocean water hits… all of these are the ingredients that unleash the wild! Add in echoes of Raiders on the Storm in between sounds of the crashing waves and arias sung by cicadas for juxtaposition – and voila – sanity arrives.
You penned a beautiful intro for what I hope will be nothing less than a time of enchantment, euphoria, and joy. ❤ ❤ ❤
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lol the cicadas complaining over coffee, I love it! You make me smile. And everything you wrote here about the ocean, sand, and sea air is exactly what I experienced. It was just perfect and so deeply good to unplug. I am excited to be back in our little writing and creative world again, with many beautiful works to catch up on. Thank you, sweet Danijel, for your beautiful message and kind thoughts for my inspiration. My Morrison obsession continues… I am so deeply grateful for you. ❤ ❤ ❤
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This made my heart sing. So happy to hear you had such a powerful and reinvigorating experience. I am even more excited to see what masterpieces you will expose us to with each new post. Rock on, dearest Allison! Today and always! ❤️❤️❤️
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You are such a joy, thank you ever so. I think honestly I’m a bit rusty upon my return… now, coffee. ♥️♥️♥️
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If only I were even a quarter as “rusty” as your rustiest ever was… 😉 I have yet to read a piece weaved together by you that has any traces of rust in it. OK, if you ever actually wrote about rust then and only then would I be wrong. ❤️ Also… fuck yeah to coffee!!!! xxx
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YOU, tho. ❤ ❤ ❤
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❤️❤️❤️
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😍😍 fantastic
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Many kind thanks to you! ❤ ❤
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Wonderful!
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Thank you so much! ❤
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You’re welcome
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Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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So beautiful and raw…
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Oh, thank you so very much, love. ❤
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I am always so drawn to your words, your style, your honest beautiful expressions. And yet, you know–this time, I am just happy to hear from you. Rest, feel, write. Be you, so well adored.
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My dearest George, thank you ever so much for your kind and touching message. I have returned and I do feel better for having unplugged. Sometimes you need a re-set so to speak… wishing you a brilliant Litha, Summer Solstice, and Father’s Day all collected into one. Speak soon. ❤
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