Torture. Being in one place and constantly wanting to move, hating it, feeling it way too much and feeling like maybe I should just stand up for another second but that doesn’t help and if I sip another bit of this hot tea I may burn myself again forcing one more neuron to explode. Explode. When you really let yourself go to feel, you also have to take on a few burdens which seem unlikely but if you knew anything about protons and electrons you know you can’t have your cake and eat it too. Just eat, it keeps you alive but over time the free radicals created in the chemical process eventually kill you. They kill you. Imagine that, get your head around it. To live you must die. To live you must ingest food that sustains you but in the end, the years of chemically breaking down proteins and all that shit kills you, causes you to age, deteriorate; not too mention if you spent a good number of years like I have eating the processed garbage they serve here at most places in my wonderful country that I, me and many others have had the privilege of growing up in but not understanding, then shit. Like every shit you ever took was just another leaf falling from your tree, as if I could cut you in half and count your rings, the number of times you stuffed some pile of calories in your face and went to sleep.
Because where I’m at here I’m just keeping track of the rhythm. Doing some counting, it helps. For every time I nod to the rhythm there is a moment when I don’t. Because I can’t. I can’t be in two places in once and if you figure that simple thing out you got yourself a one-way ticket to pure love.
There is simplicity in the road and I can’t really make you see it. It’s down there where the sky is overcast with a 10 am gray, and our passing moves the leaves, a morning’s awakening that wasn’t too hard, a bit of matted hair and the day begins with a damn good shit and a hot shower and a kiss on the cheek.
Love. Where we were when we felt that we were already there, before and now. Like sea turtles to the ocean. Like wildfires. Like a good long moment in the sun with both eyes closed. Like falling. Like dreaming.
Like breathing. Like trying to tell yourself that if you just breathe a bit and try to calm yourself down then it will work magic like it does for a headache but as soon as you sit it down and start breathing you are all like, ‘Okay holy fuck I can’t sit here’ and then you get up thinking that, okay maybe if I move in to the next room I can find something to do to take my mind off things and then as soon as you’re there you are all like, “Okay, fuck this” and it’s almost as if you are stuck between planes, inter-dimensional, like you are a 3-D movie without the glasses on, a living ghost, and man you want nothing more than to just be kicked straight in your stupid clam fucking face and be put out for a week or two, break all that shit, you don’t give a fuck, it’s gotta be better than having the total sum of your existence making you feel like the trapped air in one giant case of subcutaneous emphysema. Fucking torture.
And I need a liberation that will piece me back to place. Something to take the tensioned chaos back to outer space, where I can and will make my own place, where I’m just a mosaic constellation vision of my former face and constantly revisited by the tears of my childhood from when I first heard the phrase:
‘Dear God, make me a bird, so I can fly far, far away.’
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