Thanks heavens my head cleared up. Burned up a walking hour to slow thought down into a low rumble like a distant battlefield, the deserters sprint at first, jog, and then trot, I wonder if they can find a peaceful stride outside a certain radius or if all bones collapse, calcium land mines, feral cats clawing through tendons, nagging sensation of falling--
Up the hill passed the catholic cemetery, with still cold statues moving slight steps with the earth's rotation. The sidewalk dips lower than some of the flat grave stones with grass trimmed neatly in squares or rectangles, depending on how the body was found, imagine aerial x-ray skeletons, though I am basically up to my shins in holy burial ground with the best view of city lights in the distance, low cloud cover keeps everything contained in one blotted mass. A vague anxiety saturates my blood like a river delta.
It doesn't take constant inspiration. It takes persistence. The words will come out easier in a passion when inspired if well trained. Same with a guitar solo. Climbing a mountain peak. Each decision to take the stairs instead of the elevator, all of those lazy waiting tourists to the pace of this globe, even small steps for heavy hooves, getting torn apart by the winter and the wolves of night, but remember my dear, spring is approaching so blissful and inevitable.
Thought of a movie poster in some looming future that will come out after I die. I will disappear from this form of consciousness and others will see that feature though I'll find myself escaping, buried under ragged roots and torn up sidewalk. Lost into musical breaths aligned with silent lakes, free form writing suffers great with new born standards. The issue is the speed and that line thickened between my mind and my fingers. Contemplate what it means for this synapse failure to erupt so rapidly and then I'm typing as fast as I can but I feel a definitive mental block, a codex to my sensibilities, an ice form, carved out sand sculpture consumed by the risen tide, star fish on a boardwalk as tide shrinks away, the ocean eating human construction... one day, these deformed, fenced off buildings, the ferry beside the old pier. Each crumbling net shed pulled down under those heavy sediment waves and pulled down, down, down.
College writing rhythm. Own this new personality.
I should speak in first person. Develop a character out of myself to look back on. Closet bury those other versions and diversions, suffering the crazy shock of an electric guilt, when the pressure is cooking up boiling grease, stir fry projects and mind goes elsewhere or melts into the parts of these elements that phase change into steam.
"pull out your heart to make being alone"
Confounding what has happened in this procession. All oozed out in the end.
