The Dalai Lama thinks that I should shut the fuck up. Well, if he could use efficient curse words and trill off that phonetic juiciness required from years of dreams slipping through fingers and many nights a woman that was within me was scorned. Peace. The kind of silence that is a requirement ever so a lone and a part of the uniquely unencroachable undivided attention that can only manifest in still waters. For we know, that they run deep. An over thought cliche that gets to the nitty gritty of specific environments and how a ripple in the water cast by a stone creates a wave which is oddly specific and symbolical of how a tsunami in my throat wants to utter vowels, consonants and verbs of nothing but curse words. Stillness. forget the nuances that accompany daily living held by the grind of worker's sweat and sticky peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, snot rubbed off of a toddlers nose and a fresh Koo-laid stain on cream carpet. Dammit. If I could just s