Good day to the ones who call this a temparary home, Both for eyes and mind, May this refuse of the cold be short but welcomed. With days of warmth and sun becoming less and less, the days of cold and ice coming closer and closer, the winter calls upon us. The cold wind, Icy percipitation and the cost of the insurence on many who do not yeild to the conditions rise much like the piles of snow beside parking lots.

The funny thing is to me is I find a lot of simularities between the piles of snow that act as a display of power. I find them the relators of what I have come to, right or wrong, my views of the world around me. When younger I saw them as the mountains to climb and explore. To the clouds I would climb and when I reach the top. I knew as a young lad that I was the king of my little world.

With age I become wonderous of what kind of power was required to move such a large mass of snow and ice. Premortal strength must have been the reason we could do such things. Followed shortly after the begingings of unserstanding the power of machines and the engines we use to power hydrolics.

With pesimitic events, Loss of love and hope, names burned of many desicrations and lies burned into my body. The loss of imagination replace with the the bitter taste of reality and causality is a curse of reality. Dreams of the world replaced with the nightmares of the human condition, those mountains of liberty and devotion to get to the top, they are now the brittle, dirt congested, rot of the human essence, the nest of the human addictions, needles filling the white snow with a chest of black fluid to fracture the human being. What has this thing of life and age given us but the eyes of the witness, the mindsets of the broken and retarted and the body of falseities made of plastics and callogen laced with botox. It is a entity of our creation but like a racist grandfather to his mixed race grandson, we refuse to accept the outcomes of our own beings.

Though this is but a dirty truth in the world of consumptions and devotions to gods we coat in fools gold and speak in words that define our time in public. Yet the darkest of confessionals and the ears of the ones we concider the voice of a god to repent us. We are not a pure being but a being set on existence that has become addicted to thinking we matter. With deviotions to a ruleing being though religion or politics, a homeless man may see more truth through the clearity of the fog of drugs and depravity.

It sounds weird and these thoughts are a oddity of guest in my mind, I dont want to become a enslaved mind to the chaos of life but I also dont want to be so aware of the constructs that I am at a loss of what I am. Am I a better human by seeing things that the timeless cannot, Am I a parasite who thinks that he matters because someone said I love you to me. Am I anything more then a concious blip on a timeline of a endlesss void of univeral means. I want to look at the sun and concive its mass, I wish to see the stars and hope we will be there one day, I look to the moon and see a future where we talk to others daily there. See the red dot in the sky that is mars, one day will be deciding day that we are choosing either to see the martian landscape, or take our personal beliefs and conceptions of gods to the bitter end and we become a venus type planet. A planet that once held life and hope for a future but cannot bare life now as it is not but a rock with the nasuious gases of supheric origins that once was hope.

Those of mindfulness and hope to change things for the better I call upon you to not take the refuse we have left you and keep it, but to throw it out and recreate the beauty of what we once were. Devoted, loving, see love in loss, refuse the additions of a fast pace life and relaized the slower life is more rewarding with time.

I only hope that we choose better. Not to be taken as a carresed cat purring in ignorance, but to fight like a gorilla, strong and wise to out come and causeation.

Much Love

Your Friendly Ginger From The Woods.