hoo

I feel like I just had a heart attack. melodramaaaa

your flight fell twenty feet inflight and your eastern soul got ripped out, still,

noise noise noise noise noisen,

poison.

If something is important to you. PLEASE.

make it so.

make it so. I know, I know I say that now. I KNOW. I get it. I'm learning. I'm aching. I'm aging. I feel the tug. When I don't sleep well, and I wake fitful, wretched.

I'm spitballing now. I'm adorned with paper-lantern-post-its. crinkly fur. pastel petals, pin-pricked to my first shirt. my first shirt. each note a screeching misspelled secret that I don't believe. Yet, I keep writing them. Each mirrored surface in double. once for my ego, once for my echo. both to spurn me.

cold pockets. I keep them empty.

What is it that I do? I push the boundaries. Mine. Of course I'm alone. Not a question. Geometry. When you shift the fabric towards the shape of a cone. A shuddering speed, one direction, til there is really only one space to sit in, and then you thrust your sword in that last crevice of attention. early blindness. always blindness. blurredness. assuredness.

cold pockets. If they were full, the silhouette would be ruined.

I think that I am really the soul of some monk of me traveling well into another town/country/custom. get it?

He was sailing away from the coast with the strict task of belief. To listen, to sit, to liquify- and I still stuck at the door of our departure, realizing what my home looked like from a few steps away in the yard. Rotating like an owl-head, piercing the nostalgia again and again, with my body and my plans LEAGUES ahead.

Maybe I should go. Amongst the animals.

Side note, someone put me on a rack and Strrre-----tch me. I feel like my boots look.

HEART, RESTART, HEART, RESTART.