It feels, like this time, the window is open, more than I expected, chilly, a bit numb, but I can feel the warmth, from under ground where all of my worries I have buried, starving for more angst and anticipation from my psyche, kind of hard to walk lightly when you know these stones weigh down your being on each step, stepping stones of doubt, while escalating, powers of support and love erase the bruises, of the same stones casted upon the tissue of your spiritual being, the fine fabric of your perseverance, the maniacal intellectual, the jovial martyr, the confirmed, being of greatness, minutes reveal time’s essence, so why do I tend to subject time to understanding my greatness or what I will become, when the politics of patience, continue to overrule any judgment or idea I have of achieving everything I deem necessary to save those from what I illustrate, mere glimpses of…these anecdotes. (breathe)
Concise notes, of vernacular worlds, never before spoken of, you know when the syllables can take you there, and from such point, you can never return. I tend to think the objectivity of being a human being is stripped from us, we are quickly denounced of our own imbalances with agendas of the world. What happened to me, and what happened to the erasure, of “we” resulting in money, or the effect of currency on us. Politics, I have no place to attest, I am only here to move you, move your feelings to hear something we share and should continue to do so, in the light of beauty.
Ashley Lloyd: Interview Magazine