I'm sleepy and Kenya is almost over and summer of love is almost here and I really don't know what to expect at all but I sort of want it to be like this:
Blue Arrangements: Silver Jews
From the Carbon Dioxide Riding Academy
to the children's crusade marching through the downtown.
Well I think I'd die see, if you just said hi to me.
When something breaks it makes a beautiful sound.
Sometimes I feel like I'm watching the world
and the world isn't watching me back.
But when I see you, I know I'm in it too.
The waves come in and the waves go back.
The kids in the corner all covered in dirt.
Caught trespassing under the moon.
My father came in from wherever he'd been
and kicked my shit all over the room.
The room is dark and heavy with what I want to say.
I see murals in the radio static and on your blue jeans.
What would you say if I asked you to run away?
It's been done so many times I hardly know what it means.
or like anything else that is sort of desperate and hopeful. summer of love is literally just that, so i fantasize about days filled with love, whatever kind of love, belly full of stars, all the time, as I digest Kenya, but not with impatience and frustration, but with careful, delicate love. I'm too tired and have too much work to do to articulate, and I don't want to articulate, so tired of words, so tired of trying to convince people with words, just want to convince them with hugs and smiles or not convince them at all.