rastalove.

and she didn't know how
to tell him
she was in love with a rastaman...

i don't belong in this time or space. there is something really primal about losing all of your inhibitions and acting on pure impulse and unaltered instinct. the early cavemen did not have the elixirs that we have today but i would bet they were burning all sorts of herb, tryna change their perceptions, perspectives, and ideas. i can respect that.

i have so many dreams for this world.
the elders in this society get in the way. a realist and an idealist and a pessimist all at once, i am certain that the older i get, the less we understand each other. i remember being 3 and thinking they were divine.

they have forgotten that we are one blood. one love. one world. one life. they are too busy with the modern way. resumes. people on paper. two dimensional paper people and not the physical people who sleep and touch and look into you. sometimes i wonder where i even came from.

in certain instances, i feel completely at peace. the last time this happened i was looking into my magic smoke mirror and imagining the olive trees and the sun. [salutations]. it mostly happens after dark. if i'm lucky it happens during standing bow pose.

i like my new bangs. i did however break every rule that the game ever taught me in the process of getting them and i just couldn't help it. now, i will pay for it, literally.

i have a swollen ankle and the other day i wished i could melt into the earth.

my dear readers, you have made it this far and you probably still want to know about rastalove.

so, if it's rastalove you seek, i weaseled a secret out of a healing woman once... in this story, we are at terminal 2 [o'hare airport], sitting nearby a macdo. it's a simple rule. but almost 100% of humans break it tout le temps. snap. crackle. pop. broken. are you ready?

she said, "even pretty lady like you need help findin' true rastalove. the trick is simple. never introduce yourself by any of your given names. rastaman is a mysteryman." okay lady. apparently, this includes, first, middle, last, and catholic names, and chinese names, and and and.

if you must know why (i needed to know why), it has to do with wavelengths. you see, the rastaman exists primarily in, say, A, travels to B in a high, C during an ideal meal, and D is how he makes love.

names and formalities, titles and resumes exist in a different spectrum. a spectrum of numbers. official and ordered. 1, 2, 42, 49282, 56, 89, 000. long story short, no wavelength overlap - no connection. no connection - no love. no love. no love. if you insist on using your 'real' name, the only place you may connect is where 0 meets O. (the universe too is faulty sometimes and miscateogrizes wavelengths, thereby resulting in baseless rastalove syndrome). but i don't recommend this. hunting for rastalove in a margin of error is inefficient people!

several weeks ago, i met a young man by the name of firecracker. they call me eel i said. he ate a lot of cookies and talked about the bulls. he was a regular dude, but he wasn't a rastaman. onward.

my golden year has kicked off to a glorious start.
happy birthday to me.