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finding myself thinking of Zhuangzi's butcher. enough with the problems, and with the worries, already. but isn't it a shame to wish for perfection in a field that is so blatantly worthless, so totally without benefit for anyone? I already glide through what I'm meant to, i mean what i feel natural to, be doing to not have to think about it at

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[istheresplendor]

maybe you should come peel apart animals with me. over here, i'm wrenched from the socket of mamagut, a play at stillness, ever turning outward at the pace of slug heartbeats, that bottle so vacant in the blink of an eye...i went east, oh how we drank of each other & ran into the snow our faces streaming, never so aloof as cats or ships at night, always split through like kindling but the grain is quiet. hands were shaking with some electrical animal steering underneath the skin, parasites dance, just pushing aside the ghosts - more beautiful than they ever thought themselves...and i'm a sparrow in the prison of their eyes. this isn't any timeworn truth beyond the dirt on palms and tick tock trust that when the future disrobes, her spine won't be a wailing wall. one hopes, oh, one hopes. rory, i hate to overdraw, but i am so so thirsty for friendship these days. portland has not yet yielded. call me?