plain talk

For some reasom , imagining typing on 'real paper . Wondering if we are advancing or not or worse thinking we are but not . Anyway , I'se jus' thinken'
'bout the differeces in how we converse / talk . Whether Gibran was right in
saying all we ever do is talk to ourselves or not . It comforts me to know somone
is out there and there is possible connections , no matter our station or situation. And that contained in that speech , whether uttered or scrawled carries a certian vibration . Yeah vibes man . Like some memory that drifts upon a stream
shore only to be pulledaway by by the graceful tug of the flowing water . The poor
guy walking up the street muttering some important thought to himself or the brave
and too young to be pushen' a baby carriage , brash girl singen' soft to the sleeping child . Vibrations . The children chasing each other in a huge gang of
noise ringing through the alleys . " Whose GONNA BE IT !" Radios singing as the
cars go racing by on there way this and that . The grafitti of the soul . Letters
to the North Star . Could be a message from the ever present walls of prison ,
saying there is hope and could you send some money, these tight bastards even charge for soap in here . And there,s the insistant , persistant robo-calls from
various 'charity' organizations , moving but trained sales pitch meant to grab you
or some senile , vulnerable persons heart/purse strings . Not so much a volin
serenade as a puppeteer wokin' the 'Punch and Judy' show .
But there is song . All kinds of good vibes there . Sung in 'Back alley
slang , or in high operetic cadence , we can be of good cheer that we are makin' ourselves known . It's especially good when both at once .So , as far as we know God is listening and hoping we give the proper thanks for these voices.
Let it be known that these are the Dayz and ye should listen and be a part of
Life and sing .Give Thanks .
.