don't know

don't know don't know don't know know know know know know know know know...................................................................................................................................................................................
it takes timmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee to come back to yourself, to figure out who or what your voice is, to remember your likes and dislikes, to get quiet enough to listen to the tick tock of your soul and where it wants to go when the cacophony of liberty is spendthrifty pennywhistle jocular testing you by the millisecond. when I was little, all the secret essence of life living is there, when I was little all I had to do was lie down on the yellow rubbery trampoline in the backyard of our log house on the hairpin turn of a little hippity dippety country road in white rock, Vancouver, british Columbia, Canada, to remember and slow down and figure it all out and have it all come back. I could remember my favorite moments like getting to ride on my family's riding lawnmower and the thrill of having the responsibility of that little machine under me was all I needed to make the rest of my day fly sky high pie riding for nigh.