arms in the air

location:london
INT.
I view the contrast in the clouds. With some ancient connection I can feel the wind whipping the trees forth and too. I feel it with my eyes. I can't hear it through the tangle of indoor noises. The warm glow in the sky is carnation pink and gold.... Blown slowly into an orange blossom. Not in Canada specifically, just in the stratosphere of dreams. Is this where the sensational and the material swap spit? Can the idea further be stretched towards the realms of our economic service and manufacturing fields? They meet where the bargain is struck.
I feel the great organ of sensors; the skin barrier of my shame. The playing field of egotism and vanity. (Self-loathing & deceit) A birthplace for care, the joys of a loving touch. A newborn baby and the petals of a flower. I recognize my shadow more so, when I focus my thoughts on the perceived needs of others. My psychic self, aware of the information simply floating before me, is holding the energy tug of war in my hands. Even stronger when instead I search inside, sifting the seven layers of soul to find the gritty sand of my desires. This is the time when creativity is fixing the fridge with a stick of Freedent. I see the spider webs in the dusty sun connecting everything to everything else.
I know the rules of the game. I know the truth in the core of me. I acknowledge the often-inconsistent contradiction in terms. It's the same and different. Neither here nor there. I throw my arms to the air.