(no subject)
-- Last night I slept beside a wire hanger, didn't know it was there and hardly ever brushed up against it.
-- Woke up to find myself ... hmmm ... on a bead for self-righteous, a wee tired of my habit of understanding, in a space of understood about as much as I will be, only that bit of anger that's enough to tighten the skin, as resistant and cloudy-red as a stand of tomato aspic, stiffened by a sureness that is its own change.
-- Smoked, fingered the slackness under my eyes, and fell into a very brief, very sub-rational meditation on a specific stretch of pattern on my skirt: four blue dots in a row that stretched into a longer row and, alternately, did not. The gesture was only towards a harder is-ness that somehow manages to become.
-- My belly feels loose and flat at the same time.
-- There are certain things I am becoming through with, as in those moments where the eye falls like a plow. I can sleep beside the headwork I've done, heavy, hung, and get up. I have for so long now. And then take the day apart, for all the world like that kid smiling and furrowing over a gutted radio, determined to make it work again, but turned instead to the wind in the ear and the light in the eye of one who has always walked with a hand stretched out in front of him.
-- Today I will be counting. Inside, the vibration of tried drums.
-- Woke up to find myself ... hmmm ... on a bead for self-righteous, a wee tired of my habit of understanding, in a space of understood about as much as I will be, only that bit of anger that's enough to tighten the skin, as resistant and cloudy-red as a stand of tomato aspic, stiffened by a sureness that is its own change.
-- Smoked, fingered the slackness under my eyes, and fell into a very brief, very sub-rational meditation on a specific stretch of pattern on my skirt: four blue dots in a row that stretched into a longer row and, alternately, did not. The gesture was only towards a harder is-ness that somehow manages to become.
-- My belly feels loose and flat at the same time.
-- There are certain things I am becoming through with, as in those moments where the eye falls like a plow. I can sleep beside the headwork I've done, heavy, hung, and get up. I have for so long now. And then take the day apart, for all the world like that kid smiling and furrowing over a gutted radio, determined to make it work again, but turned instead to the wind in the ear and the light in the eye of one who has always walked with a hand stretched out in front of him.
-- Today I will be counting. Inside, the vibration of tried drums.