when i had problems with my limbs and sat on my head, i remember telling my father that i wanted to be a cloud: i'll float, and float, and float– soaking in every detail of imagination that bypasses the law of consciousness. perhaps he would have gotten a little mad. shouted something like those are frivolous admirations of the ecosystem that is meant to fuel us. perhaps he should have. because now i want to be running on greens and sunlight vehicles; i want to be the cloud. and i honestly don't know where the wind will take me.
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