let's make a flow chart.

Pour ma petit chou 

Adrienne Rich (via singingbowls)

Something I found in the crannies of my hard drive:

And it struck me. In my chord 

{Tuesday, may 31

1:39 AYEM

Been belly scratchin gone thought snatchin

I realized this evening what I knew all along which is I just can’t tell this thing to people. Not like that at least, not that way, not the real quick and dirty detail oriented summarized abstract kind of way. It’s weird, it’s uncomfortable, it’s like I’m acting it up and playing it out and I’m exaggerating and shaping details to tell a story a story that’s not my life and not my story. I’m forming and crafting and ornamenting the outfit that is the illusion the great big maya of confusion. 

Everything is just sensation, just external input coming into the senses into the feelers and it is all the same and it just is. And because it’s what we do, we human folkfolk, we process all of the incoming information by assigning meaning trying to flesh it out and dress it up so we know what to do next. Name it to act accordingly. Well this is a such and forth so lets look it up in the index in the glossary and draw on how we learned to deal with that. But what if we hadn’t learned that death was a sad hard dark awful thing and what if we had learned the physical concept that energy cannot be created or destroyed right when we learned what death is. And what about thinking of what is it about the you not being next to me and touchable and pokable and holdable that makes me want to die too? But again not feel a thing at all. Can we rename apathy to be an ok thing, to be the understanding that sublime joy and excrutiating pain is the exact same thing? And what about it that will make it so hard to not hear you end your sentences with baby or angel or call out my name as pootie with a question mark.

I miss you already, I mourn you already. I imagine what it will be like without you almost constantly. I am generating images of what this will look like all of the time and then immediately admonishing myself for such thoughts. 

But what if you could just come back? And while there is no hard evidence of this really happening, especially not with your situation, why couldn’t it happen. Why can’t anything on earth in existence happen at any spontaneous instant. 

A tree branch snapping, the bottom falling out, a soul shattered songbird snoze a good good feeling that fell it fell i tell you it just keeps appearing upon cresting any hill busting out the bottom seams so it seems a long tall meaning i’d like to glean or find another word that i don’t say so much.

metastases. hospice. pallative. care. fucking. fighting. falling asleep at the wheel.

A whell that keeps rotating and repeating its cycles. a cyclic cystic creeping little fist that knocks me on the chin each time i come around. each time i can let myself stand up and put on those nursing boots and help dad up.

Mom and I have tried to develop a system for lifting dad up and out of his chair.

Everything is about learning new little systems.

I’ve figured out a repeatable library of phrases for others. Things to say that sound ok to say when they ask whats up hows it going how are you. 

One foot in front of the other

alarming rate

I feel five years older, but tweeny seven ain’t half bad.

I tell this thing what I want it to do, what I want it to be, “Ill decide who I want to be” thanks Bonnebell ur so brill

More later, promise}

Dad passed with the setting sun twelve days later.

Tears like white elephants, got a split-tongue licking at wounds

salt water licking the shoreline

like tracking in the sand from nights spent ankle deep in black waters rushing

licking at my bones

howling at the moon. I know how to howl. I know how to crawl. I know how to wait patiently for my stop at the station. I know how to hold the line hold the line hold the line for quality control purposes. I know about quality of life. I know about breath and how life will exit the body, get off at its station, through the last deflated press of a black black lung. I ve got a black black hole and a chip on my breastbone that makes a sharp sharp edge for my heart to get rubbed on.

moloch moloch moloch.

Where do yo u linger? I’ve been pointing you out with my great cosmic pointer finger but I am the butt of a joke the first to know the last to learn the veiled princess, the snake charmer, snake killer, some sensitive bullshit, some character builder, some snag in the cloth I was cut from, some splinters in the befallen tree my nut not fall far from, some words like the ones that came before me like the ones that crossed oceans to spread seeds like me and he to this point right here, some words these words, crossing my heart, hoping to die, I promised you I wouldn’t stick a needle in dye, then put it in my arm and brand me forever, marred little darling, underworld dummy. Temple-bodied hearth-keeper, I’m praying within me for the light I’m without, fumbling for the light switch, incandescently vexed, memoirs of the inflamed the heartburned and the numb.  Fingering the interior wall of her minds eye, raised notches like a climbing wall, rough readings of braille plates, climbing the everest that is this headspace. Third space in the fifteenth dimension, where cats have three eyes, and children do find time to fly. Here lies the golden thread weavers, the tie-binders, the ones who wrapped our bellies at birth, tethering us together for our journey through the ages. 

I feel you behind me, but I’m tugging pretty hard. Ropes flung loose in the tide I am a sea strewn buoy, saltwater lapping lapping lapping at the wound, the great big hole between my sternum and bough. Soon to wash ashore, soon to be sundried, soon to be warm, I’ll leave my body by the sea, eternal heatseaker, soon to see your brown eyes to soothe the blues in me.

ilovecharts:

“Rape Crisis Scotland postcard campaign to challenge attitudes to rape. With grateful thanks to the creator of the breast-feeding chart from which it was adapted”

-Eileen Maitland

nirvikalpa:

#b9b600

a passing feeling

(via nirvikalpa-deactivated20110625-)

I may go into hibernation soon.

Cloak myself in a thing or two; little baby seedling tangled up in blue 

I’ve left my body by the sea

and I am, I really am, trying to see another way through this half-hearted contentious pull of the collar this way then that way towards the white bright light then through the mean hairy black

And this shore ain’t a place I’ve been before, smells dif’rnt looks askew, mouth agape, witches brew, tiny bones, belly swolled, and I still can’t remember all the best things you said. Saying my chants, small prayers swung along seed beads, round the neck. Hitching my wagon to all the little things, the sacred things the meaningless things I try to make sacred, pulled by the profane sucking back the words the most profanest i know. Got a hot searing hand that comes up from the middle

while I’m weak in the knees and it’s clawing at my clarity, talons tearing through a precariously perched sense of sensibility. Censoring myself whin i wanna shake the bolts loose, tear my teethright through the fragile fractured shell shards that is this day and the next day and the day before. Searching for up in a downtown world clumsily pasting words in hopes of sense making sentence structure.

wanna climb up a mountain wall just so I can see one hand and one foot go in front of the other hand, the other foot, just so I can see the other side of this thing, and not the rock bottom bottom, face up, on my back. 

curds and whey, well what can i say, ive gone to the place where theres no more play.

sank by day, wildeyed by night, crawled up in a bear suit knife at a knife fight. foreign bodies/wanna be ugly,  wanna be wrong, I’m serpentine, puzzled, fuzz in the great sprawl Well you know I just can’t help these nuances, these little hitchhiking clings that reach up and wrench me, wretched derailers, well bless your heart-heat better eat those greens, gotta feed that body ev-ery-day. Well that’s what they say when you go that wayward whey. Some-times it comes full circle and other times it don’t, but when I get to fiendin find a clever way to say: something like a bone break a chipped tooth an evil grin, A yellowbellied bottom dweller with twine that keeps on binding, blued faced squeezer, squelch a baby fever, caught in the undertow talkin like a dudebro, miss my mama, just Like I Said. Like working out a splinter spiked right in yr thumb, well you know its gonna sting and you know it’s kinda dumb. and your bird can sing 

like a little bitch. all the livelongdey

breathing in I find stillness

breathing out I know God.

heaven help me here we go again

silk worm snuggled on a porcupine threaded like a needle needing to say something more about the hen who made the bread all by herself. I’ve got some new words to look up: embattled ascetic pernicious and no I don’t know them already the boy born knowing things and some others who just stumble around veering their boat into any ol harbor I’m working on purging dis-harboring dismembering to harmonize with a clean white line that is running right through me like freeway median down the middle through the eye of a simple storm rising turbulently blundering bluster river little blistered body and anxious mind scattering these thoughts like seeds on a wind. Last dangling leaf, shiver-shaking on a winter branch trying to get to the bottom of things trying to evolve falling through a thought cloud trying to not try so hard anymore. Enjoy your rabbit thank you i will kitty snatchin sas-crotchin just want to  stop and soak the breeze right into my skull. riveting performance, fancy dancers, and the curtain never closes no more.

a room on the upper west side. and a lady might save it for me.

no more play. all work and no play. Torn down the middle.

Picking up fallen teeth by the bag-full. Peeking at scar tissue, pullingback

well that’s enough of that.

 except two tongues one time. covers sheets and fleets of fallen birds I 

I’m there, I’m all right there. here. wonder if those birds 

Slipping between sick and silken. are still falling

Stop already. I just can’t and baby I won’t. from the sky.

Wrote a short-story in my sleep last night, put it down in the thought book and everything. Haven’t re-read it, in case it’s not as brilliant as imagined in that moment.