Outside, I couldn't see them, so then went inside again... occluded by my thoughts on hidden stars. I reflected on the masking of these things so large or vast ... exceeding any measure of a section or a class, and the suffocation's woeful like I'm underneath some heel; the atmosphere is cloistered, and I cannot breath or feel.
I feel imposition that the sky somehow projects. The sky becomes a metaphor for: "that which disrespects." So, cut off by some malevolence to the fullness of my life (!), I feel withered, drawn, emulsified, or whittled by a knife.
"Craft" leap and dance behind their clouds, each one a different color, but it's color in a spectrograph, so then wider, Brighter—FULLER!! ...And these boil ultra-violet! Then, they simmer infrared! They churn in colors you shan't see passed livid bluish REDS!
After thought: you know, Alfred Lehmberg gets bashed by some, which I find odd. I think it's because, in part, he doesn't take any bit of crap -- quick to fling it back. He's also quick quick quick to say what he thinks. Those two responses pisses a lot of people off. But, here's something that a lot of people miss. Alfred's pieces are, no matter what the topic, about hope, our greater potential. He also points out, cleverly, sharply, our awful deeds, but it's all so unnecessary, if we only looked. Looked up, looked out and within, stopped denying. So simple a message and positive.
Now I have no idea if Alfred would agree with me on my insight or not. He might think I'm full of it. It's just my take on things. But I find it weird a lot of people spend a lot of time griping and arguing and flinging poo, rather than...well, being real and taking chances. At being wrong, at being surprised, at ...being.