you get scared when you guess things right.
but you do smoke cigarrettes. and youre thirsty all the time.
furthermore, you stood at the top of the playset starring at the top of a tree with its roots sticking out and naked and twisted about the ground. and as your lips twitched you wrote.
you wrote about age. and fast words.
pacing. running. ridiculously ill attentive.
does not play games that require time.
you change your clothes twice and day and have never felt safe.
and sometimes when you feel bored you feel that you need something.
and calls and lose your keys and phone and jokes.
and even when you sleep you cannot still.
but twitch and kick and lay wide awake motionless, certain that you can hear music that is not there.
It doesnt matter about the paralysis. or the shocks at night. or the cold feeling in the morning.
or the writing or guessing things and people. or the other thing.
your head lights up wrong colors. and when you go to shows you do not tap your foot.
but tell them. not fast and aching.
tell them about the beginning and the end.
and how there was a girl that rearranged the stars with her fingertips.
and how the ocean fell in love with her.
and how the sky would burn intself to calm her.
monsoon and bilateral winds.
and you dont stop talking to God in your head. and outloud.
and how there are no marks on your skin.
but guts.
b. - i'm stricken by the flow of your stream-of-consciousness. it has a pace that swells and slows like water. the speed/velocity is dependent on the wind blowing across it or with it and it becomes faster or slower based on the size and shape of the obstacles under the surface. your writing has a waking-dream feel to it. i love the way it gently urges images to appear and for the people to populate it. it is abstract and concrete within the same breath. it is as much about writing as it is writing - if that makes sense. it feels you were truly born in the wrong century/era - as not many really "get" writing - it's hard and archaic, particularly with the current swiftness and disposability of words and the media on which they are written. i'm off to read more of your stuff, but i must say i'm pleasantly surprised - dumbfounded actually - by the breadth of your words.
ReplyDeleteb. alice - i don't know if you're writing about yourself in this piece but it certainly feels as if the emotions are springing forth, stronger and stronger, as you describe the person. each time i read it i get a little shakier and more restless but i can't look away. these are stong words, my dear. does it feel like a poem, a journal, a diary?
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