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selva oscura
27 April 2019 @ 03:23 pm
november 6th, 2004
how the pages slip from between our fingers. words and words and words and words. we pile them up, when the pauses get threatening: tell me what you were going to do say again what did you follow me did you hear my question me i said don't question me you have no right to question your questions are not valid only mine answer my question you don't deserve the space you need to answer and

no wonder i'd fall into silence for months at a time. just so you know, i've been working on things, but what works for me may not work for you. there's a comfort, of a sort, of a means, to letting the reins slip, to letting the next word come. instead of saying: i will talk about this now. you may anticipate a certain level of coherence and at least late secondary school vocabulary. i will steer fiercely in this direction until it makes so much sense it makes even less sense than intentionally free form mindstreamofconscious silly babble, and

i will fall back into myself from three miles up. feel the strings snap, the rubberband's twang. oh, give me a day or two to quit rattling; i'll be more in myself than i ever have been, at least i suppose, from my three miles up looking back down. there's always another word to put after the last. whether it is the right word or not.


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mood: oddly resonant
music: the tunnel singer - sea stars