I'm sorry that this makes no sense and I explain nothing. Interpret it however you'd like. Maybe you can relate to the nonsense.
Pushing it back slow to the notes. Skimming though pictures in sacred boxes stored amongst velcro shoes and tiny mittens. Strobed memories and patchy sound bites scratch back like a Dj releasing on the One--sliding seamlessly into each other and each separate from any other. And those seamless streams were smooth and simple. Ha! Simple. Now it's heavy--all of it is so painted and weighted in, God I don't know, some residue? Is that it? Some sort of residue or mold or bacteria maybe virus. Maybe it contaminates things around us. And strobe lights make me forget and make me remember and make me confused but I prefer the strobe to the lighted entirety because confusion can almost be peaceful. Confusion removes the major ends of the emotional spectrum--can't be fully anything. Can't be fully angry or fully upset or fully happy but can just kind of be. Strobes--and no one can see your fear between flashes.* I prefer that.
*See "I'm Crying and I Should Be. Shouldn't Be" for informal and less than fully committed apology about my dramatics.
Crowd Against the Sexes
Back up into the wall and scrunch my toes to disperse the tension in my chest. Bite my lip and flex my fingers. The crowd is faceless and hoarding the space with their flying elbows or worse--they're overly developed egos. God I'm suffocating. And I'm a woman. And I'm a woman and I'm against this wall and I'm trying to push into the crowd and make my space but the current on the sidewalk is too strong. And this is nature and this is engrained and there are multiples of me pushed against the wall. Thousands, millions of me pushed against this cold, rough wall. We can't scream. Can't make sounds because sound has no space to travel it resounds in our own ears and we go insane.
I'm Crying and I Should Be. Shouldn't Be.
Ghost. You have a ghost and it sits...it sits over you and you want it there and I want it to cross over but there was unfinished business and it sits. She sits over you. And I'm fragile. I'm so..it's so stupid how fragile I am and I don't want to be. Believe me I don't want to feel it I don't want to be touched only to shatter and I'm dramatic. Because I think I'm fragile. And I'm dramatic because I say I'm tough. And I'm dramatic if I do nothing. And I can't escape being stapled with a dramatic sign and a dramatic plot and a dramatic everything because everything to try and counter it is misinterpreted. And that ghost. Leave me alone and I'm dramatic but seriously, man. Leave me alone.
Facing The Key
It's about being free and happy and happy. It' about being there and only there then and not there soon or never but right at that moment. And what! And what the hell are we thinking and are we talking about because we know nothing but when will we ever learn enough? I'm sick of
being afraid. I'm done with not being there. I'm tired of chasing a timeline that is being written
two steps behind me--leaving me stranded and confused. I need graph paper. I need graph paper and I'll shade in every square and every moment I spend shading in another square I'll at least be aware of the time going past. It's tangible and it's a form of a time line. I need--I need graph paper right now to feel time. I need it to show reality.
