Thursday, June 30, 2011

"Can We Play A Game?" She Said.

Lately I have developed a tendency to internally dialogue or narrate in the third person.

"If I seem somber, it's because I was listening very closely."
Edit: "She said."

"Nestled in her hair, she finger-painted the remaining tears in semi-circles under the eye. Lulled, she thought, "This is what a whale's skin feels like." As it happened.

I think it's partially an attempt to disassociate myself from thoughts that seem excessively mopey, or at least try to make an exercise out of them. I wonder if everybody repeats their own thoughts as much as I do.

My brain's been a little odd lately.

Last night I was relentlessly aware of it as a mass, existing in my skull. I had some involuntary image projections of a gauzy, mushy mass - grey, like brains are supposed to be. Descriptors "gauzy" and "mushy" I fixated on, but I couldn't actually think of anything that exists as both gauzy and mushy... perhaps some kind of octopus?
By thinking a lot about my brain as a "thing," I also felt very in control of it. I was able to procure a really old memory, just by urging myself to "remember something new." I was also able to keep myself from crying.


I don't have too many formed feelings on the true meaning of love; the last few years have been choppy and unforgettable - both good and bad - but if I've ever felt close to having a moment in it, it was this week when I saw a common pain reliever in the bathroom cabinet, and reflexively with an ache, wished they had no pain to relieve.

There is also that night at the swings when I needed to be saved and without a doubt, I was.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Life, Please Don't Beat The Romance Out Of Me

It's been very sad, in my heart and head. And I'm feeling more than upset, possibly comparable to existing only in the imagination of a really dull child.
I've come to crave leverage (respect?), but am beginning to feel that it's not something given naturally to me by my design. By that I mean, what I offer in the day to day seems to be a thing intangible and of little transferrable value - a trifle. And so I mean, is it just me or am I usually being talked down to, through, or past?

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Flowers Took My Headache Away, Baby

At the end of the dream, I was a performer in a circus ring. It was entirely dark except for a light that shone on myself and a woman dancing with a flag in the center of the ring. My act: swinging recklessly on a swing the height of a three story building. My eyes always closed, swinging wildly, haphazardly; never knowing if I might crash violently into the metal frame on my descent, or into the flag dancer on ascent. This was the appeal of my act; it was no feat to just swing, but one of us could be bludgeoned at any moment. I sang the entire time, a very loud singing to ensure projection. It's very hard to sing while you are swinging. The noise is here, then there.
I woke up with a throbbing headache, the same kind I get when I am impotently echoing dream-sob.
.

Monday, June 6, 2011

My Abuse is Ingenious

It's strangely exciting the way the body, I only speak from the experience of my body, reacts to a terrible revelation. It could be read, told, intuited, and the sensation is still the same; a menthol bath to the brain, hot cheeks, numb mouth, stomach plunge to the uterus, tingly limbs.
To myself I am a most depraved enemy.