no trekkin 4 old man. a story. 1,2,3

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i dont like 2 c reflctions of me, they depress me. the years have past 2 fast, inside grew nothin, only the outside. i look like a tramp, cloths show signs of carelessness n travellin. events of life,reflexions, led me 2 a life in which knowledge rains coninually on me.but im not soacked by it, rebellion,ignoranz, protect me. what a waste of life.
the bambooforest im crossin offres a nice place 4 tent, plain, with light fallin on it. i clean it n put tent. prepare 2 smoke. smoke.
yes, i think opium deepens my depression, but its a god mate, it acompains me well. body is send 2 rest, u c clearer, like a window that got cleaned.
even 2 bored 4 mastrubation i sleep early.
i awake early n climb up. in a nice place i construct my secret gardn overlookin the fog inna valley disolvin under a colorfull sky. its theese moments that keeps me goin, happyness is nothin but little short moments. deep enjoymnts. like butterflies the land on u only 2 fly off again, alightnin your heart awhile but leavin u alone in your dark pit after.

meditacion is relfection. reflektion is meditation.
couse egoproblems surroundet, friendshiped, myself with bigger loosers than me. after boyhood strated xperimentation with drugs, 4 deepenin, sensibilisation. got not deeper, mo sensible,but stuck 2 em.traveled, even tru this couldn satisfy my self i kept travellin, searchin as i liked 2 say. got loonier. dreamin took over. now aged 58. wanted 2 c, 2 understand, but 2 c u need eyes n i, but. sun heat up, look at nature, force the buttrefly 2 land on me again. but, hm. so i get up , prepare tent n go on.
walk slowly.read,smoke. walk.eat little.
camp next village at river.get opium.
have inteligenz 2 understand, but no willpower 2 change .
its not travellin that enriches, not knowledge, xperimentacion, not relfection, not femmas that cocksuck u. its this river, this ricefield. god is seein, god is feelin. god is harmony. god is in u. not me
sit whole day at river. home, i think n look in2 the sun, red in its settin, home is nowhere.

oftn thought 2 let the story b, opened ended with home is nowhere.
im however banalizin it with an endin 2 typical 4 me. sorry am puritanic.

2 days passed.went upstream, n turnin east,fallowed a sidearm,mo ltlle ,mo pituresque.
oh how i like the sunsets. watch em all.
now: sit front of river,which rins at this part slowly, bottomed by round browngreenish overgrown stones.some small rocks its islands, it flowes tru a very nice vally.green gras, violet n white flowers. near hills climbin,fallin ,allmost vertically all around me; treecovered with only heads bare,it b-in massive,majestetic lokkin, rock. here n there wooodn platforms,build on planks, with strawroof. bamboobushes.trees
the heat of day is over,its warm, with softer light. i smoke. listenin 2 the sound d water makes by its movin n the summin of insect wings.
there seems 2 b much dustpartikels in d air couse, now with the light yellowin, landscape seems foggy. this is the climax.all glows under a warm,golden ,yellow. soon the sky would turn orange,red, greenviolet. then the show would b over. but no. im wrong. beauty is allways.
i listn 2 d change of sound,d frogs,grasshoppers,night birds.d apearance of stars(1 1st)the dark siuletts of hills loosin emself in darker darkness, d constalation of stars. a good feelin all my body while observin d beauty of nature.

we r not what we r. we r catterpillars.
he was caccooin under d sunset,tru nite.he caccooned under d risin sun that later heated him,dried him up n fred him of himself.couse.
WE r d butterflies of happyness

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