A big poopy thunderstorm is love

I feel like such a big poopy fart. And I don't want consoling. I just want deep appreciation and compassionately expressed understanding. Where are You? ~*I AM RIGHT HERE*~
This is what is going through me. Hehehehehehehehehehe.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I itch and long to create music of vitality and windswept wisdom; spontaneous and colorful and unapologetic. Did I just hear you say that? Yes, I'm sure you did because I chose to use these words. We are not slaves, we never have been, because we have only to master ourselves as unique individuals. Nothing can be done to console you and lull you back into sleep, I will only continue to shake you and touch you gently, with fierce fullness of love, until you arise. You have only to be what you always have been, which means what you always are. I can see that we only need to make it more simple, because understanding the simplest essence of anything (read: everything) is all that wisdom truly means.
I am crazy. I am manic. I am off the wall and out the window. I see with many eyes. I speak with many tongues. I touch with many hands. I walk with many feet. I sing with many a beat. I am untameable, I am, a force of the earth itself, the terribly fiercesome power of the thunderstorm. I am an artist. And I see...I see perfection itself...dancing elusively around my storm clapping  mind.