colours.

All the needy still need
and all the losers still lose

It's autumn. Fall. They call it fall because all the leaves fall... I guess. Makes sense. It's the most beautiful season of all... right? When the leaves change color and they become orange and purple and yellow and red.

all the preachers still preach
but they ain't bringin no change

Funny how, really, fall is just a season of death. We drive to the mountains and look at all the dying trees. The leaves are changing colors because they are dying. Like people who suffocate turn blue, people who become ill turn yellow. People who flu up turn red. When leaves die, they change colors.... just like us.

I'm not afraid to die
'cause all these colors will change

When we ride our bikes through the leaves, we are desiring to hear the bones of the leaves crushed and their skin torn apart. We pile their bodies and then we bag em up and burn em. Sometimes not until after we have jumped into them to crush them just one more time.

All the low is still low
and all the high still get high
how I wish we could dance
but all these rhythms don't seem to match up

I do not desire to sound dramatic. It's just amazing to me how we as humans find so much beauty in death. And maybe that is why we are all dying. I have only watched one man die. And that was enough to last a lifetime. Mr. Roybal struggled to enter death, or he struggled to let go of life. He was an example to me...

I'm not afraid to die
'cause all these colors will change

Sometimes we are breathing.... but we are only battling between the pain of living or the mystery of being dead. Which one will suck more? Which one will be more confusing? To me though; well, I just don't see what the big deal is.

Bits and bits of cane, burning burning burning
bit by bit away
they grow as people grow
and glow as people glow

Contained in the flesh or free to roam in eternity, my spirit is alive. My being moves and feels and knows. My being awaits the day of freedom and perfection. And while it is restricted to the confines of my flesh, it does not believe like the flesh believes, nor does it feel what the flesh feels. They do not confir with one another. So I have learned to not confir with the flesh either. And I get along just fine.

I'm not afraid to die
'cause all these colors will change

italics = Portugal. The Man