Tuesday, October 27, 2015



my heart is not invested in this. what my heart is invested in is what i wish it were not invested in- ghosts. i seem to love ghosts, no matter how deceptive they are. they do not mean to deceive. they are very out of touch with authenticity. this harms them. they do not mean to be out of touch with authenticity- they do not know they are out of touch with authenticity. they do not know they are harming authenticity.
although i am attached to ghosts, i cannot make incisions in their flesh. (only they can do this with one another). they find reflections this way. once they do, they stare both blankly and deeply into one another- soulmates.

the sun rises- the angels come alive. they are encapsulated; callused....unicellular and invertebrate, but huge. these angels are biblical.
for them, parts of life move from one to the next less like currents in oceans far from land, or far from thoughts of land. the parts of life move for one to the next like how particles in breezes do- spores finding places to land- happenstances. they are among billions of other spores.
i can talk to myself about this until i reach my own landing. however, it might be wise if i crossed the movements under the stratosphere as a movement myself- one among the spores, and the currents alike. i can get myself to move across fields of ghosts, tumbling so- barely noticing the feeling of ghosts (encapsulated, callused), very aware of my tumbling.
i can give myself to the pure air.
the fountain magic.


no. i mustn't connect into another; mustn't fully absorb (perpetuating fully means to absorb halfway). i can just as well feel my way through my own flesh. i can feel it brush against what leaves itself to the imagination in order to feel.

umbilical love.

marriage, according to the eyes of the law, is a deceptive institution. marriage is already. because of preconceptions, we do not know that. we do not know our belly buttons come from umbilical cords.

i am naked. it is irrelevant whether this is a dream sequence or not. the imagination is free-range- so much space, space that cannot be taken.
i am naked, meaning: there is nothing i leave to the imagination. i know it is cool with setting me free. impossibilities must be made possible. it is a mission. it is in my hands.

the bee.

this morning, while trimming leaves of various plants outside, and clearing leaf-litter, a stinging sensation brought my awareness to the palm of my right hand. a bee was crawling out. because i knew she was to drag her organs in a trail behind her, crawling to her death, i allowed her to crawl on my body, the safe place, until it were to become too personal for me.
i am connected to the dying bee. i am the dying bee.
she was not rejecting her sex because of its feminine functioning, but because it had function as is. the story of functioning seems remote and old: lurking- as remote and old things lurk, and lurk alone- meaning, the story of functioning is a history, pried further to history even after death. this bee is stubborn and does not want this to be the functions only chance at connection.

this scientific explanation confused us. we disliked this, and resented it greatly.
any connection inside and outside the body is a gesture suggesting discrepancy.
a discrepancy is an immediate relation.

to starve is to know enslavement. it is othering. because it is other, it convinces of truth, gets me to believe in it: those othered hold the secrets to survival: how to survive; how to focus on surviving.

there isn't a soul who convincingly expresses starvation unless they do, in fact, starve.
starving is different everywhere. at this rate, it is almost like an art form.
starvation wears many disguises. to find out if you are starving- if you are from where i am from- wear a mask. if you dislike the experience, to any degree, this will be a terrible feeling- a starvation in itself. what might happen is you may feel an irresistible urge to do anything else- whatever it takes to distract yourself from the mask you wear, before ultimately removing it. it might take forever to realize the mask is something you hide behind to deny your starvation. (my mask makes me feel claustrophobic sometimes.) this is how we starve where i come from.
it's a taking- a suckling at gravity- at the completeness gravity offers. wanting. having. stealing, without inhibition, while wearing a mask, facing many directions.
there is one particular direction i focus on staring at: processing through the day (evading a downward shift).

some flowers are dead. the arrangement of  dead flowers is wild. our legs grow to walk over the very long grass and the very dead wild flowers. it takes years of growth to get to the point of not being bothered by the dead wild flowers.

loss is only there if regarded as such. if loss remains of memory, what loss does is float along a stream with all other light things, turning out the be incapable of sinking.
i do this, pressed against nothing.