(no subject)
i have nothing to say, anything to write. i hate the editing process; i write in pen. there's a cut on the side of my right hand, in lieu of scraping it across paper, these hands now work together to form words. palms down for a change.
if i wasn't a breathing contradiction, i'd be a universal embodiment of plural. everything about me cancels out. things i loathe accompany what i pursue zealously. all at once i feel despised and desired; pretty and plain; transparent and opague. i'm so middle-of-the-road there's no place for the truck to swerve and miss me. even physically. hair that's not quite blonde or brown. eyes green. blue eyes bring out dreamers and send in search parties, brown eyes are mud- deep and honest. but green is the color of envy, of emerald, of vomit, of kermit. i don't have delicate features, but hopefully they don't overwhelm. i don't recognize myself, ever. let's stop thinking about it literally.
i swam in the atlantic ocean last friday. the cold water seized my lungs and i struggled for breath in the path of a huge wave. nothing within to hold to go under, no ability to rise or jump above it, i let it crash right into the bulk of me and carry me at its will. if i had died, it would have been with respect for the raw power of the ocean, the rules it enacts, her natural consequences. how it is. now apply this principal to my land life: choose to dive under it, choose to rise above it, or let it smack you right in the face. maybe all to the same effect. with the size and strength of that particular wave, i imagine it would have been. but in life, land life, real life, literalife. i've gotta choose. gotta choose. up down or swept away.
but i prefer to be enigmatic, maybe.
if i wasn't a breathing contradiction, i'd be a universal embodiment of plural. everything about me cancels out. things i loathe accompany what i pursue zealously. all at once i feel despised and desired; pretty and plain; transparent and opague. i'm so middle-of-the-road there's no place for the truck to swerve and miss me. even physically. hair that's not quite blonde or brown. eyes green. blue eyes bring out dreamers and send in search parties, brown eyes are mud- deep and honest. but green is the color of envy, of emerald, of vomit, of kermit. i don't have delicate features, but hopefully they don't overwhelm. i don't recognize myself, ever. let's stop thinking about it literally.
i swam in the atlantic ocean last friday. the cold water seized my lungs and i struggled for breath in the path of a huge wave. nothing within to hold to go under, no ability to rise or jump above it, i let it crash right into the bulk of me and carry me at its will. if i had died, it would have been with respect for the raw power of the ocean, the rules it enacts, her natural consequences. how it is. now apply this principal to my land life: choose to dive under it, choose to rise above it, or let it smack you right in the face. maybe all to the same effect. with the size and strength of that particular wave, i imagine it would have been. but in life, land life, real life, literalife. i've gotta choose. gotta choose. up down or swept away.
but i prefer to be enigmatic, maybe.