I can only imagine the implications of furled trees and fortifications growing pollen bees surprising surreptitious and surmising pathways twisted born in air cradled cuddled coddled care. Weary bleary false conceptions — drawn out drowning death connections… How can the smallest thing grow out of hand? The truth uncouth: what lies? Unplanned. And if I am an honest Tweak, and in genuinely unique. I can’t help be lost as I ponder what it is that others wonder. Or how they wander searching answers, a lust for truth beyond the boarders of what they consider secure and safe, what makes them fear and even grief. And in the nonsense that I blurt, I, too, am scared of what that’s worth — and who interprets it and how, but I must just live within the now.
The Truth Hurts
Published by tweakuniqueblog
Hi, I’m Andrew, but I go by TweakUnique. I looove spreading smiles from cheek to cheek. Daylight moves us as morning passes we all get up off to our tasks with a new tomorrow dividing our time; imagine, would you? Less sorrow this time? That’s my dream and waking habit - follow the steps and then we’ll have it. Place your bets step with science develop plans with confidence. We move together whether we like it or not. Shared air is shared weather, or have you forgot? Trash you dish is trash you’ll eat - what goes around comes around. Gravity. The way we walk is by falling just a little; if you wanna fly high dive into BIG riddles. Practice morally communally in mind. Creativity unravels unrest. It unwinds. View all posts by tweakuniqueblog
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