At night I begin to think again about how scared I am of hunger, and wonder if at last I am ready to go into it, if I am ready at last to be the witch.
Butterflies in the garden, bees in the garden, as in the deepest center of me - in the cascades of me - this love.
Always ask, what are you defending.
Closing my eyes, clutching the headboard coming, oh summertime thank you, thank you so much, thank you.
Following Fionnghuala who shops - skillfully studying clothing, fingers trailing through lines of cloth to find the one that works - in a way that I associated with my sisters and mother, i.e. we are never not near family.
Cannabis basically instantiating a kind of insight porn masquerading as spirituality, i.e., fomenting the same separation with a slightly different appearance.
This city stands for angry men.
Don't look now but the marketplace is coming for you.
Take me down to the river, woman, take me down between your thighs to pray.
Loving what is pretty, preferring what I can buy, can own, because it increases the odds I can protect it, but I can't, I never can, who made me this way, broken and too confused to ever heal.
Scarlett Johansson in Under the Skin.
The whole zombie thing isn't funny by the way, not funny at all.
Buying watermelons, juicing them later to drink with a cold rice and cucumber salad.
Why do you read these sentences.
Going out at midnight, taking my clothes off, dancing in moonlight, really doing this, knowing I am a fool but still, doing this.
Sitting to write in the corner of the couch where I sat last week and got an unanticipated no warning blowjob and this is the sentences I write so yeah, I get it, I'm still just a monkey dreaming of angels.
Oh Randy Rhoads thank you, I did not who I was until I watched you be so pretty and powerful all at once (is this related to your death which left me stupefied for decades).
Stacking boxes of canning jars, being told how, happy to help, happy to be helping the one I am helping: this this.
The maya today is so fine I don't even remember there is moksha.
To whom I am kin if not you.
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