....is the lasting spirit....the preservation of a soul. moments shared in the absence of one's existence. its the thread that needles society......
"mitishamba is i, ishmael, observing how the real story of crossing a river is not the water, but the stepping stones. sort of like ants and their society, the names others continually use as tread for their paths, yet lack the gratitude of even planting an ant hill on the other side of the banks. it speaks of those that utter, yet lack sound. i write in observation of silence. the fat Lady that sings is suffering. unable to exhale Her beauty as all of Her mind's language is caged. so i use this tongue to exhaust. shit. that just means tired. since i know if i spoke of what i think, the person reading this at this point is listening. a writer is a silent speaker. meaning the only person capable of hearing me knows how to literally consume words. so my literature is on blades of grass as i know how they speak loudest with the lowest sound. revealing how those that graze from the same field of thought turn into greedy animals and thus milk herds. followers of anything that does not consume from its grounds, they await for what a servant of dirt produces in blind urge.........."
......preview of how my thoughts travel as i tell stories of storytellers lacking stories yet......
tree - lineage; connecting two to one; soil's vengeance to air
a bird's morning song is being piped by a hundred and forty notes of absent earths in each tweet, abandoned records, while a tree attempts to provide a branch for its resting place..... @mtishamba
mitishamba ~ my perception, once upon a time, someone thought a tree grew on air because the branches mirror the roots.
"the green floating toilet"