I can’t say with full certainty anything is ironed out for me. Especially in regard to this. I am just non-settling, working on nothing until I am working on the thing. I have this novel (oh, gosh, oh bore, oh here we go not with this again) I do not often work on until I do. Let’s peak behind the veil because what’s appeared here is not of this earth. Green, suedey hatchings over the interior walls of the mind, glinting in the offlight of the bubble lamp you have in there. Jerk your head around to see a monstrous face’s outline. It is nothing, but it is probably something. This is me. Living my life. Today, I went outside again. Little private incantatory moments where no word is spoken but I’m lying down and with my eyes closed, in my head, scenes of fantastic plot-underscored drives appear. We are inning the septum of a God Focus. We are trying out the bungie wire and throwing ourselves in, all seven-to-nine of us. Different versions of myself, each deluded as to being totally like a person. What is the jack you use to lift your care to lug on a spare? What is that hunk of metal? What is matter? Ooh.
I am writing this thing right now. I’m writing it and I’m trying I guess on at least a subconscious level to communicate to you even if “you” is just a vague nondescript someone to me. I would be so grateful to know someone read something of mine and knew it was there. I am a slow reader, myself. Who hardly reads nowadays. My library is huge, but I hardly read. For now. Again. If you just shared a single post or something, that would be so amazing to me. Really. I mean it. I do. But even not doing that, given that you’re assumed to be still here with me in this very sentence, thanks a bunch. Really. I mean it. Thank you. For being here. Like a witness. For witnessing me. For saying without meaning to back to me that I’m real, somehow.
I am frequented with self-made little nested reminders that life or existence or whatever is just brutally, brutally sad at moments. Having a memory, and having time. Being aware of what little you’re doing to change what could actually be changed so easily if you just tried. Here’s to whatever: here’s to trying: anything. Just listen with me. There is an air. Even and especially when deprived of all your senses, your mind wanders. It can’t help but wander. That is cool. That is a cool thing, isn’t it. Bye.