I experienced sunshine today. I tasted deeply of long, soft kisses. I read a collection of poems by one of my favorite poets, Christopher Marlowe (if Shakespeare was a pimp and not so pretentious, he'd be Christopher Marlowe). I took pictures with no purpose beyond existing for the sake of taking pictures. L'art pour l'art. The heat was not oppressive in any way.

It was enriching.

I ate Easter bread which had been frozen and saved for me until my return. With it I drank Code Red that was given to me as a belated birthday present. I gazed out my window at a sea of green and earth and life. The song I played on my speakers was a little something by The Pillows called "Crazy Sunshine." It sends electricity directly to the soul, where it burns into you for a brief while and then explodes.

I want to surf the cool breeze that drifts in from my window. I want to bang on my typewriter keys until they crumble. I want to write a novel that delights on every page and whose ending brings you to the brink of enlightenment. I want to write a thousand letters (even though I only have enough stationary for fourteen).

And if I was in any other realm other than reality, I would fly.
Through sunshine. Through tree-tops. Through infinity.

This is a dream I had while meditating in the desert.