prettiness

my breath is caught somewhere in my solar plexus. it's a fearful catch. that normal panic about self that comes along and ...

my bathroom and kitchen are spotless.

to make up for the rocking of the ship, gone overboard.

looking for a pocket of air under the water. the safe spot

"my fingers were sticky.hate, anger, pain. the words would not fall. I was bleeding words. i went into the bathroom to try to wash them away but when i drew my hand from the clear cold water, the words welled up again, red and liquid, danger words, broken words, the cracked vessel of my love"

i love words.

and they make me angry. how pathetic a representation they actually are for feeling sensation vision sight .. all of it. but they're what we have. other than touch.

we are rationalizers and justifiers and reasoners and we need belief. whether it's in god or money or nature or being or the people we love or even just ourselves. in the sticky sweet things that make up the dirt and mud of us. but what's interesting is...well ,to me...all that belief. who cares. it's all valid. but when you get a consensus. it stops being a belief and becomes some universal fact.

i'm partly talking out my butt

but i was thinking about this, in the tub. reading winterson and trying to be warm while the sky was silver at noon.

and i feel solid.

sometimes i feel solid and heavy with the weight of who i am and what i am. my flesh and my worries and my wants

and sometimes i feel like i will be like that bubble that danced through traffic..

stop me from this prettiness. sometimes that much needed time in your own head is simultaneously helpful and deeply awash in the salt of ones own little internal sea.

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