All I want is to have a little home secluded in the New England woods or something where I paint and can lay by a fire and warm my agony filled body in peace.
Every six months I travel into a city to show my art and then dissipate into the woods again.
I hate living in the cities and being around people and diseases and I hate being in pain.
And I just want to be alone with just a few folks I like in a little cabin somewhere away from everyone where I’m not in pain.
I don’t want to work, I don't want to make money, I don't want to go to movies or bars or restaurants.
I want a cat to sleep in my chest while I relish comfort in a pile of pillows looking up at a skylight where I can see stars at night.
I hate people, I want thunderstorms and trees, I want to live somewhere where I am content staying in my little space forever.
I want a stream I can put my aching feet in in the summer where I can look at rocks.
I don’t want to see another car or bus or train ever again.
I’m tired of social media, I want books, I want to write, I want to be dirty and free, I don’t want to think about skin care or makeup or what is in fashion.
I want to be warm and safe with vegetables and fresh goat milk for breakfast.
I hate people, I hate the city, I want to live alone in a tree far far away.
I want to smell moss in the summer and hear birds and drink herbal tea and make my own candy and clothing and be barefoot.
I want to paint watercolors on my porch in the sunlight and I want a big bed made of logs with fur pelts to sleep under at night.
And I want to not think about a clock and just spend a whole day on a loom weaving or beading and eat carrots and honey and keep chickens and goats and drink spring water.
I wanna talk to animals and make wreaths out of green spring twigs and have wild mushrooms and berries and swing on a porch swing and sing to myself.
I need a real way out. I need to be somewhere far away where I can breathe.
I’d move back to California if it meant I could live someplace secluded and calm with big trees and wild rabbits.
I’d move anywhere if I could be happy.
No cell service, just internet in one building and one land line, no expectations but to make art and make merry with the deer and like minded people and food that tastes better than anything I'll have again.
I’m tired of sleeping on the floor and eating trash and being in pain.
I want to take a hike alone in a rainstorm, I want to hear the trees talk to each other, I want to see the stars.
I want to have two seconds where I’m not hearing the maddening hum of electricity.
What I’d give to live in nowhere Michigan by the lake in the woods.
What I’d give.
I hate people and steel and plastic and cars and trains and planes.
I hate the never ending noise and the alienation and the hatred.
I hate city’s and sound and grime and gas and oil and processed food that makes me sick every time I eat it.
I’m afraid that the place that is miserable is not a city but in fact myself.
And I don’t know how to live with that or what I should do.
Everything feels like a shell of what it once was and I feel like I’m hoping for something that does not exist.
And I become disappointed when things fall apart.
And now no matter where I go, I’m going to miss wherever I am not, because I’m hunting for a feeling and not a place and that feeling is something that is not coming to me.
I had a fleeting moment in my life where I was content and it’s now since passed and everything I do to recreate that feeling is empty and hollow because I long for something I can’t get back.
I fear even if I get as close to it as to taste it again it won’t be the same and I’ll be disappointed.
It feels like the best time I’ll ever have is in the rear view mirror and it hurts because it was such a small sliver of my whole life.
The thing is I know I was still sad during those moments of comfort and it makes me wonder too if I’ll ever be happy?
Even if I can get back to that place of content I don’t know if I’ll be able to ever reach something better which is full happiness.
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