For all of the people who are connected to the air and the deep green...

Every drunk was out and staring up at the lights that were above the park. Squinting and trying to make out what were gnats, and what was soft rain mist. The leaves were barely yellowing, but you could smell the early sign of decay and the earthy life that surrounds it.

Everywhere behind the eyes was dancing a dream of lovers and safety, and of getting old and conquering failure. Or even just avoiding failure, or even just having the luck of just getting scratched by life a couple times.

The blessing of peace, and the blessing of emptiness and abandon, and the blessing of the green and wet loving world, and the blessing of blessings not being a real thing. You can hold your hands together and feel connected to the air. This feeling should be blessed, too.

For all of the people who are connected to the air and the deep green. Shoes tap along wet sidewalks. Maybe padding is the name for the sound. It's quiet. In other parts of the world, where people are living louder and hornier, the pad of the wet sidewalk feet is covered up by tire splashes and the smell of cigarette smoke. There is a cop siren in the background. Far away. Even underneath the padding of the feet on the sidewalk. For all of the people who are connected to the air and the deep green. The rest of the forest, jungle, roots, and moss are so deep that you want to lay in it all and never get up. Breathing in your food and drink. On your back, staring up at the deep black sky.

Far away, there are other people playing games in living rooms, and hitting their families and trying too hard. Like cardboard cut-outs of mannequins. A glaze of animal instincts, biting, chasing, yelling, boasting, slapping, raging, eating, spending, fighting, pissing, fucking everything, blowing it up, pretending to believe, bootstrapping.

Even some of these people are connected to the air and the deep green. They lay in bed at night and breathe in the quiet and cold air. Their scalps sometimes tingling from it. If there is someone next to them, they have been quiet for a long time. People who are connected to the air and the deep green wait until the people next to them fall asleep. They do this so that they don’t have to be asked what they’re doing, or have to explain how it feels- floating away to childhood, when a million truths were unknown, but some known ones were truer than most. Remember cute people who were strange and safe. Remember deep colors. Remember the smell of raindirt. All people who are connected to the air and the deep green do these things.

Now we turn to oil that has turned grey. It is slow and waterless and airless. There are we in others, and others in we, and there is starting to become no we and others. We change our minds all day against bad and good judgement. Dramatic and fiery, but bland and boring. Boring has become the biggest problem for them. Looking at shows and commercials and commercialshows. They look the same. They both look expensive. If they’re good, they make it look too expensive just for you. Some commercialshows even know how to look good to people who are connected to the air and the deep green.

Dipping a hand in the base of the waterfall, the garden hose, the cave pool, the sleeping volcano, the fire hydrant, the beer in the glass in an empty bar on a cool summer night. There is an internet jukebox that you can sync to your bank account. It’s the easiest thing in the world to spend too much money on all of the things you want to hear. All songs by people who are connected to the air and the deep green. The only heat in your body is from the slight stress of having to speak to another person, and the gentle hiss of alcohol in your throat and upper gut.