There is no greater life than to cease to attract bees. Oh no, not the natural bees whom crochet honey in languid and bittersweet yarns golden and hypnotic. But the paparazzi bee which lives in a “Money comb” of hiccuping. Not without drama nor intrigue is the life of a zen buddha-bee. A zen buddha bee pollinates this mind with the lotus of the floating castles.
Today I saw the heart so great, so grand and no designers from Pucci nor Dolce and Gabbana were shopping there? It is a place where streams of thing silk strings, ricochet with pulsating veins electric. Acupuncture of fragrant blossoms. Soft perfumes kiss each other like a big band of scents. The flute is an eerie jasmine and yang yang tonk a bean. The trombones a slow fire of muscatel ribena syrup of tiny juice bells ringing. Out of the saxophone jumps dizzying soft roses to the coats of my eyelids slippery. This heart spinning like a dervish pops out and out of the pockets of a thousand iridescent fireflies. Suddenly there is melody of jumping beautiful shiny red pulsating. Where is the secret world of love with it’s spinning dervish heart? Anointed divine one giver of star beings, angels. Christ the soul man.