Flowers Without Permission (no. 9)

Primitivo and Zinfandel... Voice in glass. Root and rebellion bound in wine. Let’s ask a question to the modern eye. Baking a cake... without posting it? Why would you bake it?! No photograph. No audience. No little heart. No permission. The forest has revoked your password. Before the thought receives its first name, a silent guardian is already awake. The amygdala calls— and the circuit ignites! Not an enemy. Not a defect. The wise guardian of the forest. The brain’s eyelash blinks before the eye can see. Catches dust from the old fire and turns every ember into a rave! I am not a human being who broke. I am a human being who was looked after. Badly, perhaps. Dramatically. By a demonic little guardian nobody else could see. Thank you, little bastard. Now I think circularly. No beginning. No end. Yesterday crawls into tomorrow. Tomorrow crawls back into yesterday. Past. Present. Future. All drunk together at the same table. I do not belong where I was born. I was always the wrong one. The misplaced flower. The inconvenient root. The weed in the photograph. But the shadow becomes my place. Feminist shirt. Boots with heels. Back straight. Chin up. I take my place! ACCESS DENIED. Denied by whom, darling? Excellent. Release the meerkats. Where meerkats are allowed to live— I am! Where roots go down without asking the ceiling— I am! Everything falls back to earth! Back to the mud! Back to the original plan! Sensing with the dervishes! Spinning in the loop! The broken bowl is shattered— BUT WE’RE STILL SERVING THE SOUP! Plants without photos! Plants without likes! Flowers without followers! We are logging off from your linear matrix— TONIGHT! Bloated merchants trying to sell me my own history. Price tags on scars. Barcodes on grief. A subscription model for the soul. But nothing disappears. Tree trunks fall. Half-rotten. Damp holes full of life. Mushrooms eating yesterday. Dead leaves becoming soil. And underneath the pavement— something filthy is still breathing. We are small. Trivial. Insects in the ear of the world. A little irritation. A little noise. A little impossible flower growing through the floor. And then— the paper started talking back. The archive coughed. The dead letters stood up and began to dance. Listen. There is a voice that doesn’t use words. It doesn't need your filters. It doesn't need your algorithm. It doesn't need your permission to glisten. Error. Life marks detected. Smooth surface compromised. Oh no. Not a smooth surface. How tragic. Please remain within the lines. There are no lines. Lines detected. Those are roots, sweetheart. You just don't know how to read them. Did you remember to say thank you to the system? I thank the ground. The ground is the only thing that cannot be taken from me. WINE IN THE GLASS! ROOTS IN THE CONCRETE! FLOWERS IN THE FILES! SCARS IN THE ARCHIVE! BURN THE LEDGER! REBOOT THE ECOSYSTEM! NO PERMISSION! The circle is whole. The circle is beautiful. It does not ask whether it is beautiful. It simply turns. Yesterday’s storms become nourishment. The deepest roots drink from what tried to drown them. I am not trapped inside your prison. I was designed to transform. What was once a threat becomes vitality. Becomes grace. Becomes soil. Becomes flower. Becomes seed. And then— back to the earth. I become the source of my own alchemy. No permission... The flower doesn't ask. The root doesn't ask. The rain doesn't ask. The moon doesn't fill out a form! Scar Clan! ARK CLAN! MEERKATS! FLOWERS! WINE! ROOTS! SCARS! SOIL! WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION?! Nobody. Where meerkats are allowed to live— I AM! Where roots destroy the architecture— I AM! Everything falls back to earth! Back to the mud! Back to the blood! Back to the original plan! STRESS BECOMES SOURCE CODE! WRINKLES BECOME ART! SCARS BECOME MAPS! GRIEF BECOMES HEART! BURN THE LEDGER! BREAK THE DESIGN! KILL THE OBSERVATION TOWER! THE SCAR TRIBE IS HOWLING! AND WE ARE CROSSING THE LINE! NO PERMISSION! The observation tower is dead. The ledger is burning. The flowers don't care. The echo is everything. And the echo... is free. Completely objective. Completely free.