Is this a real Saturday

[italiceyeball]

Overfull with creeping language dissatisfaction. With overexposure. I cringe, oh do I cringe and mutter helpless obscenities to my finger wagging censor and his I told you so smile. This is why we can't be children again, not without casting long shadows that betray our gambling praying frantic musical chair vulnerabilities. Not without that knife to throat trying too hard, that laughter with its edge pressed close breathing back of neck cynicism. Not without the sickness of excessive self awareness.

But no, I argue, I implore. I am either inconsolably hopeful or a psychic masochist, but I plead. Demand? Demand movement, no matter how clumsy and halting, no matter how divinely my insecurities squirm and whimper for a return to dull and reserved safety.

Still choosing embarrassment over torpor. Good. Red faced means blood pumping. And really, fuck it, why not. Pulling back always works and never satisfies. Risk.

Besides and also. There is room for lightness, for laughing away all the fish hook puppeteers. And maybe what I want is more than an escape from one profundity to another but instead some relief from heavy things entirely.

Comments

[keplers_angels]

Stop wording.

Stand up.
Exhale and do not inhale yet.
Rotate in place.
Twice.
Close your eyes.
Inhale.

Take a walk or
go for a drive

[italiceyeball]

I did this without knocking anything over and on my short walk I was approached by a hummingbird. It moved through the same space briefly occupied by a swooping bat last night(cue chitin crunch and edge of hearing pitch) and paused at eye level to regard me unblinkingly. She looked irritated at my brooding, stuck her tongue out and disappeared.

Mood improved but craving something sweet.

[keplers_angels]

The hummingbird. Analogy to one of my favorite concepts: "instantaneous velocity." It is in super-visual motion, yet it is still in location. A calm center. (as rotating in place.)

I hope you did not try to embrace her (or is that just octopodes?) for they are quick to flit. Some animals will do that to you, no matter who you are. And some animals will wait, til they can make out your particular heart rhythm, before they decide to flit or be handled.

But anyway, I've been working up some rain... slow right now, my head is full of sunwarmed hay loft bales--not conducive to the conjuring of rain, but as soon as it can be managed, I'll send some your way, rain. I think it will help. In the meantime, you may borrow my hay loft if you like.

[italiceyeball]

I wouldn't try to embrace anyone giving me that exasperated regard. I'm sure she would have drawn blood.

Rain, please. And for now I'll gladly lounge in your hayloft, chew absently at stalks, and nap.