11:16 – the laundry post

the cartilage peeling wheels careening I’m dissolving into symptomatic panic the pleasure in my face senses automatic aromatic bamboo splitting underneath my nails. transmitting the spells I run on adrenaline cells, fueling this vessel of organic matter the latter it’s coming to my understanding that life is but a funnel we all traverse, what are we but a different colored Alice born to slip through our own wonderland. we’re looking for someone, something, the glue that makes it all make sense. you’ll find it in fresh cut leather, ripe avocado, the space between the buttons on your blackberry, the sulphuric pools by the dead sea, fruit from thailand. it’s there. just breathe.

this is where i came undone, and re-done, the threadcount in my head coming together, no longer splitting, no longer unwitting, the synapses wringing together, fresh hanging laundry, i know this is a crappy metaphor but just go with it, visualize it in your head, and you’ll see it, the peaceful piece of clothing strung up between 14th century apartment buildings in napoli, the ones in postcards. if we could all be like that, hanging, being pressed, getting worn, then getting washed, getting worn, getting a stain on our right breast, being worn by a grandfather, then son, then son of the son. it moves in cycles: red, spiraling cycles. sometimes you eat the bar, and sometimes you get a power bar. and then of course, sometimes the bar eats you.


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I'm fascinated with people, their stories, where they're coming from and where they're headed. Met many, and now it's time to write my own. follow the footprint.

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