(Photo by Michelle Prime, my lovely love. (I only see well enough to recognize the sight and sound of my shattering bones, well enough to know my fetid use is poisoning Love, so why did I squint in the daylight in my eagerness to catch a glimpse of Love, the creator’s the last thing I’d have recognized when eartH let slip her wrath.) Belief Knocked at My Door. I do not Know Anything, I Believe... I allowed my belief to be written inside of my spirit from what little identity I had left after asking The Mother, The Grandmother and The Great Grandmother who I was. (Maybe I should have been more careful with what I wished to know instead of just being satisfied with what I believed.) I had no tangible belief until about a year ago when I went on a journey to discover my purpose, my identity. To begin, I had to come to the stark realization that I, Mark Richard Prime, didn't know anything. Not one thing, not even myself. The following, therefore, is not knowledge, it ...
(The Weaver's Song)