a whispering murmur blends in with the 3D printer and the pneumatic drill across the street from me at the hospital's current renovating wing du jour.
flavour of no month as i have no months left to count down to.
the focus is pragmatically only on today.
ecstatically trying to look away from the mushy center of gaseous liquids, which acid and sharpness corrodes into further wet mess. all my power comes from and ends in my expanded and taut belly.
an ibs attack that has consistently attacked me without irritation, bouncing a pun on 'bowels'.
layer after layer of pain is applied with concern for others and held together with pain of others'.
a perverse crystal ball, spreading evenly across the space i am dreaming of growing a fetus in one day, a space of shit and piss.
grinding my teeth awake, i receive the greyscale edge of the world today with an awkward mistrust, like a bed that has that extra folded crease in its bottom sheet, or extra degree of warmth when you are nervously adjusting leg and arm temperature, as you toss and turn really really late, really really early, and right before you are due to shut the alarm up, with eyes that have again failed to stick shut.
a concrete city of 'i want a word with you' processed through electronic devices that alter the sound, i am tourist with map and a paper boat hat, clumsily bruising my fold-up jean legs as i defy the sharp edges with neglect. my dad's voice 'wanting to have had a chance to talk, but nevermind we will next time if you come see us alone', my sister's 'i want to connect with you without words', my housecat's 'i want to know if you are here for me for good or if you are continually perpetuating the ad hoc nature of our relationship, or is that my doing?', my supervisor's 'i want to fill you in on life you have not lived that has to do with a life we do not live and life we have to prepare to have' in an office of 37 degrees heat and static academia, my partner's 'don't be upset i prefer to ease out of difficulty by not picking it apart, let's hug instead of talk, until talk is born clearly and confidently'--
my need to check to check to check the panic attack passenger on the plane is not me.
with heavy magical fire belly, i sit in a hot office, unslept, unremarkable, and try to think of architecturally realistic ways of smiling genuinely so i am not intimidating or distracted or aloof. i have watched the people around me for a little while this day, and their echoes and caricature movements are appearing so vivid, i have lost faith in my own vivacity. it's a precision that takes you from actor to real boy, and boy am i more animation and lost in a screen than ever before. shapes of sounds dance between the edges of all frames in front of me. if i dance along to them, will i still make sense, and will you still want to hang out with me?
flavour of no month as i have no months left to count down to.
the focus is pragmatically only on today.
ecstatically trying to look away from the mushy center of gaseous liquids, which acid and sharpness corrodes into further wet mess. all my power comes from and ends in my expanded and taut belly.
an ibs attack that has consistently attacked me without irritation, bouncing a pun on 'bowels'.
layer after layer of pain is applied with concern for others and held together with pain of others'.
a perverse crystal ball, spreading evenly across the space i am dreaming of growing a fetus in one day, a space of shit and piss.
grinding my teeth awake, i receive the greyscale edge of the world today with an awkward mistrust, like a bed that has that extra folded crease in its bottom sheet, or extra degree of warmth when you are nervously adjusting leg and arm temperature, as you toss and turn really really late, really really early, and right before you are due to shut the alarm up, with eyes that have again failed to stick shut.
a concrete city of 'i want a word with you' processed through electronic devices that alter the sound, i am tourist with map and a paper boat hat, clumsily bruising my fold-up jean legs as i defy the sharp edges with neglect. my dad's voice 'wanting to have had a chance to talk, but nevermind we will next time if you come see us alone', my sister's 'i want to connect with you without words', my housecat's 'i want to know if you are here for me for good or if you are continually perpetuating the ad hoc nature of our relationship, or is that my doing?', my supervisor's 'i want to fill you in on life you have not lived that has to do with a life we do not live and life we have to prepare to have' in an office of 37 degrees heat and static academia, my partner's 'don't be upset i prefer to ease out of difficulty by not picking it apart, let's hug instead of talk, until talk is born clearly and confidently'--
my need to check to check to check the panic attack passenger on the plane is not me.
with heavy magical fire belly, i sit in a hot office, unslept, unremarkable, and try to think of architecturally realistic ways of smiling genuinely so i am not intimidating or distracted or aloof. i have watched the people around me for a little while this day, and their echoes and caricature movements are appearing so vivid, i have lost faith in my own vivacity. it's a precision that takes you from actor to real boy, and boy am i more animation and lost in a screen than ever before. shapes of sounds dance between the edges of all frames in front of me. if i dance along to them, will i still make sense, and will you still want to hang out with me?
