or the new normalcies of reflection.
|Aug 23||Public post|
I worry less about dying in the mirror. I keep more & more things to myself. I don't have a particularly good sense of how open I seem to people but I feel like an open book to anyone kind enough to acknowledge my spine. sometimes I just fall open & begin on a random page that out of context sounds fantastic. I did get a tattoo & write a poem. neither of those is metaphors. the poem is about actual squirrels. it's elsewhere on the internet. you can find it. cross-posting feels more & more industrial & I want to be an ecosystem, not a product. everything (in the limited sense) is fine & going to be alright. yeah, like fine is not alright but both are not bad. who's on first? what's on next? we don't need any more reboots. I like parallel universes where the superheroes suck. Entertainment kills someone & pays another. Every frame, every note, every brush of elbow. I mean literally though too. The dollar as we know it is a death note first. but today is fine. & money will be money tomorrow. most of my bills were paid without trouble until this summer. the fall should be different. my Saturn return is fucking nigh. it's exactly 8 months till my 28th birthday & I'm alive.
frivolity is relative to joy in that I feel more frivolous that joyful & believe it takes the same path home in my heart. I got a tattoo & wrote a poem because I am home here & wanted a subtle reminder. I feel at times surrounded by the endlessness of wonder, not my own, singularly, but the entire entity of Wonder. & the mystification only ever feels so good. I stopped loving a man who wondered his way into every ditch his forefathers built & called it a literary gift. I remember how he made me hurt more than the inked needle. & the proximity has somehow not exacerbated the tortuous memory. my mother told me to avoid gnats but I had to see you as minuscule first. sorry, that got very directional. my point is there is no spontaneity in my everyday happiness. even the most impromptu decisions are in a wheelhouse of possible realities. new ones can form in real-time but I'm less surprised at myself & more encouraged I have new movements in me.
lastly, the intergenerationality of needs. been around 3 generations of women/folk recently & seeing the threads cut & tied across. I think of my mommy & granny & the weather. the summer hurts me. the sun zaps something from me. I need diffusion. I need the gloom. but this summer I've been navigating shade & modulation. still, haven't been to therapy sober. but can't think of it till the fall. need to rebalance. recalibrate. come back into me. the phrase of the summer is "touch me". the atmosphere is in the blood & stories passed down. how did you all fall in love? how will I? threads named after cowboys & pageant queens & new age religions & mascot & vegetables & a heart around the name.