Writing this to the sound of cicadas convulsing against trees and the hourly ambulance wailing is ritual enough (in theory) to bind me to this circuit. Truly, I feel I know only one person who has written outside of the law. I punish myself for breaking all laws between us, confessing. Today, like all other days, I felt for the familiar bonds of the family curse. Pluto in the one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eighth house. I run my mind along the musculature of memories to find fresh perforations, little nodules of pain, scar tissue from this or that clean cut of trust. I’ve not only worked, but refined, something… something to the bone but daylight is a slow drip and by sunset I forget precisely what it is I’m creating. If I could have it a way, it’d be the way that dreams, for better or for worse, are always hinting at it.
I’ve had this one-second-robust idea of a film I’d like to see almost every day, for the past month. Today it’s a flash of a rosy-hued stamp with a few soft-lined vines on either side. Not quite a jungle scene, the pinkish sepia is too modern. There is a girl, a lead, but she’s understood and her image isn’t generated. The vision of it all retracts every time I try to conjure it up inside my head. Someone could easily say I smoke too much, I think I just play goddess in a different way. Why create worlds when so many are already in a fugue state? My insecurities are a volt of vultures who’ve evolved just enough to fantasize. They pick apart the future carcasses of my whole fucking world before each has time to catch its first cold. This reminds me of all the knots on the counting rope of prayers to no one titled: please don’t let mommy be doomed. If multiple divorces are truly their own counting rope of generational curses for the family, I’d like to (and do now to past lovers) pose the question: just what can you ever divorce?
I’d like everybody to be quiet for a second and enter the X-Ray Room.
Look at the insect shown here in my skull, now, tell me what frightens most:
Those additional eyes with so much more of you to take in?

Or those ancillary legs, granting the quickest escape from you?

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