Freshness and Fire re-examined.

It’s nothing tangible—not to be said in words.

But more my loss of dreams.

Not sure how to treat it: w/ apathy or with medicine.

Loss of this illusion—my dream is just as painful as reality’s loss.

The reality is that we were never whole.

But the truth is we were perfect.

The familial heroes to all who wished our fantastical truth was theirs

Their reality too as much as we wished our truth was not an illusion but reality.

Mr. f scott once said, “No amount of fire of freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.” This-I find—to be one ultimate truth.

We cannot change the world. Reality says.

But we can change the truth, our truth.

Our illusions may be made up of new dreams

Becoming truth.

I have found that I am loyal to creating this dream—of course with the end that we are

together/whole/happy? More so than I am loyal to myself.

Loyalty of an illusion is nothing at all is it.

Resulting in the sacrifice of life
and reality for the truth of an illusion.

My loyalty to this illusion is congruous to THE loyalty to my precept of

Me. Where I come from. Who I am.

Where this illusion invokes enchanted dreams

Treeforts, ponies, life, birth and work.

The reality harbors shabby love affairs and newborn awkward silences.

My illusion loves me as much as I it. But all appearances tell me this means little and it will let me down again.

Immateriality and the chase of this illusive dream makes it pure—for it is this mythical notion that keeps me chasing.

It has overtaken my life, my soul and my reality—terrible, deceitful yet beautiful hope== a mirage always appearing

Just out of reach.

We all seem to be ruining our lives in pursuit of it.

I thought I could fulfill this dream by repeating the past:

I re-built the tree fort, I slept there.—I painted.

Re-tamed the horse. Dueted with dad accordion and piano.

My paintings all encompass mi adolesencia.

Fishing, smiling, naked little me.

But at once I realized.

The past was dead—with my illusion the present is a sham

And the future will not have a quorum—we don’t have a vote.

Ruined non-returnable years for the sake of an dream.

Pitty.