I could write short, mostly effective descriptions of various realizations I have in a day, or even a moment, with few words & maybe probably still convey meaning to you somehow, sure, but i’d rather write forbidden run on sentences that trail about in the same electrical way they do inside my thought place, my consciousness, my heart. like meandering carefully & carelessly through a lonely wooded path, so flowy and mystical, led by pure instinct & intuition, that when you finally arrive at the magical mushroom patch, almost unable to recall just how you got there, it feels like you achieved something — —