inside the fulminating darkness, as my head pounds away, in migraine 14235, which is almost the number of days ive lived on earth, thought there would be more of those somehow. my wisdom teeth are in for many years now, but wisdom isnt. I still flap in rhythm, in the hectic verse of fear. trying to be, full of flesh and fur, earthfire without. in dreamfell, these mirrors are not kind, I am etched in such detail, it feels like a gash in the substance of being, too much opulent sorrow, pathos, reality, mercant, in what is, but a whiff of rest, a kind of stillness.
I can quite see the full power of free wind, but what would a sightless woman do, if I couldnt smell the smoke, or see anything at all. I feel the heat increase, but there are no sounds for direction or cause. I stick my tongue out, as the only other feeler left on my person, but without the smell, the curl of flavor is a texture, unfamiliar and frightening. no one comes running to take my hand and write with their fingers, I feel a debilitating envy for the blessed who have stairs and pavement. reality that is theirs by existence. I call for help in a soundless shout, and feel the first trickle of smoke into the lungs.
I am, by arduous necessity, an authority on what is intrinsic, but this night, it does not care, it breezes around everything that is solid and sharp bevel, as if it never were, and I, I hold its hand, I understand it, I understand all things. My heart starts pounding beat with the head, and I start erasing myself assiduously, to understand is to become. not to be naive, to the conscious me frighteningly critical with butterfly memories that stretch into pasts I did not live. the shaded pointless creature living in a beautiful multiverse, but constantly changing place and time.
Of the enormous fete of being born female, everything extrinsic is a gift, something the world consciously withholds, something this night turns into the unconscious. all substitution feels like a weave to hide something I am.
when nothing moves, the world beyond my reach is galloping away around the sun in all earnest, my hands start clawing for clarity, the glasses go on, all medias are combed for orderly notions, assiduously finding my place again in the mainstream, like a puzzle piece under the carpet. there are of course as many bright sunshiny mornings where its perfectly obvious that I am, right there in the group photo, my reason on earth obvious and moral mountaintop, but they are impossible to visualize tonight.
somewhere beyond shadow and reason, this little box with brick walls, keeping me warm and safe, feels so far away from its neighbour. my hands fumnle on the keyboard, and in this particular minute, its not possible for everyone to join hands and dance a little dance to remember, life is perfectly obvious.
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