Thoughts On a Few Things While The World is in Disarray
on writing, wildness, people and etcetera
On writing
I am told by a friends to place a doorway into my work, that people need to be told where to place their feet when walking. I have machete’d my way through the forest just fine, why can’t I expect the same of others? There is no entry point to the wilderness, you start and find yourself engulfed.
On wildness
His eyes dialate as a fly kamikazes for the window; in the expanded pupil I watch instinct conquer domestication. He tears across the hardwoods the lineoleum and smacks into the wall as the fly turns and beelines for the living room. He shakes it off, and follows suit. God help us graceless creatures, pissing in weird containers and chasing little things.
On People
In parks, offices and churches; animal, human, something else, inventing god over and over again (for fun or for means to an end or because there is something there and we will never name it or because one cannot possibly understand the depths of my one’s own hunger without breaking their mind.)
On guilt
When my grandmother died I repeat the phrase “she’s dead” until I arrived to a point of total acceptance. This ritual lasted two hours, my muttering littering the floor of the airbnb. I carry it. I loathe the blindfolds and increasingly complex measures of denial: here we are, here is the feeling ,the weight, why are your palms pressed across your face? The dead are not sleeping.
On abstaining
I don’t know what to say here, I give myself everything: if pride is involved even a wound can become a home. Those who starve themselves are skilled in the art of making feasts from crumbs.
On Cyncism
Early nettles are soft, lamblike and later grow stinging spurs to protect themselves from being consumed or stopped upon. This world will not devour you the instant joy enters the room, pleasure is not a death sentence.
On Truth
Needing no permission to exist it often fails to fit any one narrative cleanly or conveniently. I was not good, and I did my best to resolve all lose ends: you will render the godhead from your disdain and worship what’s most convenient.
On writing ( again )
To scratch an itch in public, to bake a loaf of bread, to orgasm and let myself lay flushed and sprawled about the sheets, to pick a scab, to look at someone beautiful and imagine they are imagining me, to dig a thumb beneath the muscle and peel it off the bone— done in pursuit of a sentence. I find hitting the bullseye unsatisfying and would prefer an exploded hillside.
x-
nim
"This world will not devour you the instant joy enters the room, pleasure is not a death sentence." I need to remember that.
many grabby hands make up disarray, instead reach up.
great points