Besides the pups woofing, it’s quiet inside this house. The rain drizzles from the wayward sky. The heater must be clogged, the big metallic bags, must have some debris within. The noise from the vents, rattles. It is not unpleasant, as it is the flow of machinery. Machinery, as it relates to industrialism, makes me sad, for this land was not that kind of place, before us Europeans arrived. Can’t go back now, what’s the friggin point to doing that. However, I mourn for my Native American cousins. Maybe some day I’ll get on a ship, record myself leaving The Americas, headed back to Europe. The Beatles said, get back to where you once belonged. Maybe there’s something to that. Again, I think too much. I really do believe we could be more unified. We could allow one another to be in harmony with our core. Who knows, I guess the more I write about these feelings, the more clear it will become. Of course, that’s a matter of faith- a shot in the dark. I may miss the mark, not even close. However, faith guides my purpose. Faith in something better. That love is worth fighting and dying for. To defend the home of love. To banish evil. Fight the evil forces. They do exist, believe me- it’s worse than you might imagine.

I feel an eternal presence near. That someone is near. Someone, might be everyone. A collective creator, beyond comprehension. It makes me feel as if I have an intricate design. It’s up to me to figure out, although, I’m never alone. I won’t say trigger words, creator might’ve even crossed some boundaries, but eh. What other word can I use to express what I feel?

Maybe the universe is my creator. Maybe the cosmos, the nebulas, are my grandparents. The sun is my uncle. Who is my father? I won’t say. That a very private and personal affair to me.

What I will do is express my core. There is good change within. The steel-like ice has begun to melt. Something good is on the way. Not a pivotal moment, or maybe, a catalyst, time will tell, it always does.

I just friggin love talking with all of you. It may sound strange and daft, but I hear you all listening. Like, I can see you in the crowd. I’ve got your full attention. In the end, I’ll be forever a wanderer. Like Earendil. With a Silmaril strapped to my forehead, like my hero Jimmie Hendrix rocking lsd on his forehead with his iconic bandanas. Man, what a legend. Miss ya, Jimmie. Thank you, where ever you are, for creating. You’ll live on in my energy for as long as my energy lasts.

It’s quiet. It’s silent. And I feel at peace. I feel like, I’m home.

Philip Webb