Today We Are the Living Cadaver of Yesterday’s Lost Life
Oooohhhh.
I molest this phrase with exceeding frequency, in my mind. I can’t believe how powerful music can be to me sometimes; and mostly when I turn a deaf ear to all sounds.
Except the city whipping by me at an alarming pace. I can hear that, because not to hear that is to not see it, to be in it. Every energy here culminates into a stew of sorts. Stew of fire cracking, the buzz really never stops.
I think of Fernando Pessoa being so many different characters through his writing. I figure if he can maintain separate personalities through writing as separate people, I might maintain a distance from all those aspects of myself in completeness. In other words, I can split and separate and sift through the pieces of me and post them in pieces all over the place. I maintain different pieces of me, some sharper, others duller, in separate places both publicly, and privately maintained.
I eat the fall like I ate cherry jello at twelve years old. I can’t wait for the burning fire of orange on the trees. I can’t wait to pick apples with my friends in MA, and I can’t wait to show the fetus what Autumn is, in fullness.
I am going to take this transcription opportunity afforded to me by my old friend. Yes, check that box for the girl who does her work in her underwear with a half-eaten bowl of cereal by the computer. This is a good thing for me, allowing full exploration of self through art and time management and all things responsible that I have unknowingly earned.
But I always needed that. That job that requires no movement from my comfortable chair. I am often late when meeting for a date, but that’s the way I work it, or it works me.
I hung out with the Candy girl the other day. We got triznashed hard and passed out as friends, and woke up the same way, too.
There was all kinds of stuff stewing for me in our meeting. Some of it was sadness, because we let pieces of a friendship that took a lot of time to cultivate die. But it wasn’t as strange as I first imagined hanging out with her again to be. My little project, my prozac driven movie idea we worked on, she was working on, which upset me at first. But then I realized that in business, shit can happen. And I have a flowering of ideas lately. They come peeling out of my brain like jiffy pop over the stove. And that wasn’t the last one, much as it wasn’t the first. We actually worked quite well together as writing partners, so I’d imagine a friendship culminated around so many pretties probably isn’t so bad at all.
But anyhow. Moving. Life is moving again. With some frequency. Some swirling.
