Let’s write one another from our own beds.  We can spill our hearts out on the pages.  Go till we run out of ink or when our fingers cramp up.  Then toss the letters out the window with the hopes it will arrive somewhere safe.  

The next morning, grounds people will pick up our sad letters.  Press it to their chests.  Feel bolder than a skyscraper.  The grounds people will then lead  humanity into a true heart-based culture.

All it takes is one pen and as many pages you’re willing to donate.  Go ahead folks.  Scribble from your heart.

At Swanson’s, we not only install an X-Ray vision chip into your eye.  We guarantee it will work.  Take it to your favorite swim park.  Share with your shady father the contents of his locked “mysterious” cabinet.  You’ll impress people of all races, religions, ages and criminal backgrounds.  Swanson’s…wow your eyes before you die. 

You were never here but somehow I miss you.  It would be easy to just flick you on or off as I lie here, my head pushed deep into the down pillow.  Without you I have to get up and shuffle to the light switch six or seven paces from the bed.

Strange how passion drains out the body.  I scream in agony for it to stop.  People tell me it’s normal to walk about like a zombie, feel nothing,  want only to pay bills or have a superficial chuckle with a stranger otherwise known as my brother or cousin or best friend.  Then as this passion has found itself deeply embedded outside of my consciousness, the simple act of walking six or seven paces to turn on or off a light becomes a burden.  Can’t death just take over.  Better yet, please end this nightmare ruled by apathy.  Allow me to awaken with lamps all about that are ignited by my mere excitement. This is what I long for.