(no subject)
Oh, Jesus. It is a wonder and miracle, sein und zeit, zeitgeist and mittens. I'm going to wear a shirt from Munchen and a scarf from Poland tomorrow. I will be tres international.
I feel like I have a speculum inside of me; this is very, very unappealing. But I am also aflame from meine interior. After a spectacular night of explosive teary-eyed-ness, I made four miniature apple pies for four miniature ideas of Gods. My life is a portrait of the artist at age 4, covered in mud and horsehair. Something will happen. Something will happen. It is always happening. I consume, and subsume, and resume. My eyes! Temba, his arms wide! Darmok and Gilead, at Tenegra! Lauren, in the woods! Andre, his tooth exposed! Apples, in cinammon!
Sometimes I feel like I have so much shooting out of me that I don't trust anyone to contain it. If I meet a person who can, who can take it from me and need and want it, absorb and bathe in it, wear it like a halo------>that person: mine. Forever. Come, here, now. Stay, always. I want to Care Bear Stare my whole person into someone else. Of course I'll take them, too, and they will surrender it all, signed, "with love."
What is faith except ease? What is ease except a fullfilment, an overrun of misery that spills into the surreal? The berserkers ran unscathed through the front lines, and those thereafter. I want to run, scathed or un, into lines and lines of pikes and bleating faces. Kiss them all.
I feel like I have a speculum inside of me; this is very, very unappealing. But I am also aflame from meine interior. After a spectacular night of explosive teary-eyed-ness, I made four miniature apple pies for four miniature ideas of Gods. My life is a portrait of the artist at age 4, covered in mud and horsehair. Something will happen. Something will happen. It is always happening. I consume, and subsume, and resume. My eyes! Temba, his arms wide! Darmok and Gilead, at Tenegra! Lauren, in the woods! Andre, his tooth exposed! Apples, in cinammon!
Sometimes I feel like I have so much shooting out of me that I don't trust anyone to contain it. If I meet a person who can, who can take it from me and need and want it, absorb and bathe in it, wear it like a halo------>that person: mine. Forever. Come, here, now. Stay, always. I want to Care Bear Stare my whole person into someone else. Of course I'll take them, too, and they will surrender it all, signed, "with love."
What is faith except ease? What is ease except a fullfilment, an overrun of misery that spills into the surreal? The berserkers ran unscathed through the front lines, and those thereafter. I want to run, scathed or un, into lines and lines of pikes and bleating faces. Kiss them all.