love makes me sad. of course abundance and sweetness creep up and in squeezing bit by bit outward, but loss is all i can think. the two are so closely entwined, my heart doesnt want this, its terrified.
so little heart, i'll pet you like a cat, let you know it'll be fun, you might like it. it wont last, nothing can, this is true, but what makes permanence so appealing? the constant shifts waves folding over each other and enveloping itself, the great big sea, human beings making love authentically, 'swhat heals the isolation, the fear, the drift away from existence, brought back by eyes looking in your direction while the movement happens. open like a bud, you sweet hard thing, it could be great. relax into it, i'll hold your hand, i'll stroke your back, i'll let the sorrow come when its time for that, we cant sit here forever in this sadness, friend.

nerves and feelings.

i'm not dead yet.

thats pretty cool and scary.

i am grateful this morning that aside from my rapid heart beat and inability to gather a satisfying breath, along with  feelings of regret, guilt, and general emptiness, i have not gone blind, stopped my heart, gotten into a devastating accident, or anything else that is likely to happen when you trash your body the way i have the past few days (weeks?). another opportunity to be a healthy adult. 

slong as i dont hyperventilate or somethin in the next few hours. 

thanks body, for generally sleeping pretty well every night, for resting and rejuvenating, for digesting food, for engaging unused muscles on command, for resisting every message i've sent that seems to say "i dont care about you" and just keeping all this stuff goin.

i hope the blood finds its way back to my heart and it loves something when that does happen.

i will try not to devastate my brain and soul and general well being this way again. 

this is my apology to myself. i'm sorry. 

riding a weedwacker, noise-wise

mingling god of a feeling
from one sunny day to the next autumn shift
spiraling focus of infinity, anxiety, calmness
thickly woven
rolling around marbled meat and fat

o and leaves and lives bark burnt off trees
and mucus membranes
health like boils on the butt and fungus
light spots on a bloated gut
pallid hollowed bug eyed bonfire of an existence
acrid aftermath of a revolution that has not gone sad
only turned to show the underside
the great turkey molt of our times

do not look for anything.

It's almost impossible at this point for me to decipher between intuition and tricks my mind makes up to keep me egocentric and unaware of the great big beautiful impossible world around me. and all i can think is why did that text message say that? how come I am so needy lately? well the answers aren't terribly important, its finding my strength that matters. centering myself around that point barely below the navel.
I will squeeze this love out and in and all around one way or the other.
feelings are no reason to do anything other than feel.
I'd really like a hug. Maybe one will show up today right when I can offer a really good one back.

Breathing in, I know that I am breathing in.
Breathing out, I know that I am breathing out.
sipping mate, I know I am sipping mate.
feeling like a sad love dog, i know i am feeling like a sad love dog.

center of all centers, core of cores. all of this universe, to the farthest star. and beyond them, is your fruit, your flesh.

o, well, hi.
the past couple weeks have really served to internalize some very thin values i've been carrying around very poorly.
reading some bhagavad-gita...what's really stuck so far is the importance of discipline. whether you buy into any sort of model of the ultimate, i think its still useful to think of ourselves as containing a higher consciousness that needs a little help to transcend these stories we put ourselves in...to cultivate awareness outside your story..
with better understanding comes compassion...a smaller ego, an easier approach to life's conundrums
i do not like to hurt people, arjuna did not want to go into battle
you only want to murder your family if you're a disconnected psychonutball...however, theoretically, there are higher things that your own desire to keep your hands clean
inaction is action and we all must keep acting, there's no getting out of it...but who's in charge here? whose intention are we serving?
it is a possibility to explore who gets to drive this bus. there are experiments to be done.
kindness can seem pretty awful sometimes.
the responsibility is all our own to discipline ourselves to cultivate this higher self that is sitting idly waiting for its opportunity to drive. its got its gloves on now.we are supposed to be frightened.
that said, i've got a lot of work to do
i suppose i will always be doing it...i shall always be striving and failing to serve the goodness inside of me, which will not show itself unless i give it it's dues.
this can make for some very awkward moments. good thing there's humor for that.
well, and tears.
good thing loss makes room for growth. creative expansion.. go with it.

sprinkle it on, call it god. and so it is.

I had a dream of sitting in complete silence. Its absurd to be a burden to yourself.. to not live freely and for language not to work how you want and for eyes to not do the thing intended for them..by the great big Intender of Things... that is, and are, ourselves and everything and you and my blanket and your love and my indecision.
Certainty, it comes, it goes. Most certainly,  certainty never stays for long. Burdened. What do I offer?
And then, to peel it off, to be a symbol of your own experience and offer nothing and suddenly, you're being received and receiving, seeing and being seen..neglecting to hope for anything. Like what, a chicken sandwich? Greek yogurt.
I, being truly and classically woman, take the espresso chocolate cake out of the fridge at 2 am, though I am still full from the dinner I ate six hours ago, half intuitively and half wishfully open the front door for my silent cat who tonight decides not to roam in the cold, but to hop in my lap and lie on his back and paw the air in ecstasy as I massage his belly and simultaneously try to eat the cake. Truly and classically feline.
Irresistible and inconvenient.
I said killer whale but what I was really thinking is: sperm whale.spermwhale. Sometimes I just can't think of words. I thought, "semen whale." No, not right. The conversation the whale was sandwiched in pertained to my linguistic abilities.
Most the time the right word eludes me, even if the word is spoon or ostrich or ..well, ..
For this reason, along with how my muses are tiny insects I can hardly recognize until I smash them, spill my juice and scare the cat away, writing as any sort of profession is far too daunting a ...I can't think of the word...
no, really.
And I don't want to think any harder on it...I know there's a word for that spot, but maybe that's my style. Along with my true and original nature, I've been looking for my style. Are these searches diametrically opposed...do we contain style as our essential selves? Probably, yeah, I know that true style is an expression of the comfort resting in the, our, yours, my true nature. The pants don't matter.
Probably nature dictates our most eloquent style after funny haircuts and when you forget to think about your weight and shape and size..the best hair and shapes come out.
I'm not sure of my style or how close I am to liberation, but the cat just might sleep through the night to the right of my legs on top of the down comforter and in front of the space heater in my queen bed in my sweet little home with my teacher, friend, roommate sleeping quiet and naked next to her haunted secretary desk.

no tail to wag.

I figure the adderall vending machines are coming soon, anyway. So I threw on another course. The thing is, I am neither ambitious nor disciplined. This is a stupid idea. I'm not sure if this is the way to manipulate my nature. It's a pretty expensive way. But maybe if I'm swamped with reading and tryin to figure out how to study and write papers well, I won't have time...well for anything..but for lonely anxious moments considering why we do anything at all. I'll probably just drop the anthropology course. The course covers these Mississippian Native Americans who had building projects and big 'ol marble statues and a Matriarch queen sorta gal. Its like, cool, okay. Civilizations are neat. I'm all about them. However, I guess I don't really care for anthropology. It's too scientific and dry. There's a lot of meat in there...but I prefer a historical and philosophical perspective..something closer to fiction.
I am terrified I'm not sure I even really know what it is I want or like or prefer. I'm thinking, this is all going to change, I'm not a fixed variable, I feel different all the time. It's hard for me to keep focused on a particular ambition.. I forget easily what I felt so passionately and surely the day before.
solutions: (because we always just have to come up with solutions, plans, follow them through and forget why half-way, come back to the piece of paper and say, "ah. yes. This is what I do next, then." We have to do this or else we're just floating and shape shifting and our friends won't even recognize us after awhile. we must be recognizable)
articulate, often, what and why something matters right then. A good reason to follow through..
ha.