tiger in the rear door window
o, ye men of little faith. see what i can live. see what i can survive. the body is a wall which, when reduced to rubble, is nonetheless a sacred divider. until the wall is gone entirely, the spirit remains in the body.
sitting here, waiting, people magazine on the cover whose house am i in? how strange how we come to know people or thing that we do. the rhythm of the sentences is what's important, that's why selfediting is such a problem: it comes out stilted. you would think it doesn't matter but it does. oh, it does. sometimes i think everything but the words defines the words themselves, rather than words' claiming to stand on their own in any sense but a flat sense...
sometimes thoughts whirl around my head and i feel like a scientist, like "give me a problem and i'll solve it, come on, come on" and now is almost one of those times. my neck a little too thick over my sweater vest. "gimme, gimme, gimme." let me feel it hurt. let me walk through it and delight in the excruciating process with the goal being only the experience of the process.
onto iah, onto love. on, on, on. what drama! what delight! what overblown proportions, what wounds unseen and ritual scarring that doesn't leave marks! what sacrifices and compromise! oh! the stakes are high, there are hearts throbbing on the table and people throbbing on the street. (something original something authentic is impossible. why do i never thinksay thisway whenay i'm not typing? how inconvenient.) oh! only now am i living. no, i think not. it's in the breath.
sitting here, waiting, people magazine on the cover whose house am i in? how strange how we come to know people or thing that we do. the rhythm of the sentences is what's important, that's why selfediting is such a problem: it comes out stilted. you would think it doesn't matter but it does. oh, it does. sometimes i think everything but the words defines the words themselves, rather than words' claiming to stand on their own in any sense but a flat sense...
sometimes thoughts whirl around my head and i feel like a scientist, like "give me a problem and i'll solve it, come on, come on" and now is almost one of those times. my neck a little too thick over my sweater vest. "gimme, gimme, gimme." let me feel it hurt. let me walk through it and delight in the excruciating process with the goal being only the experience of the process.
onto iah, onto love. on, on, on. what drama! what delight! what overblown proportions, what wounds unseen and ritual scarring that doesn't leave marks! what sacrifices and compromise! oh! the stakes are high, there are hearts throbbing on the table and people throbbing on the street. (something original something authentic is impossible. why do i never thinksay thisway whenay i'm not typing? how inconvenient.) oh! only now am i living. no, i think not. it's in the breath.