Friday, November 5, 2010
My eternity is slipping away, slipping out my body with blood flow - slipping away with the angle of my breasts and the crease of my skin. Slipping away in the gathers of my pores, I'm departing my time of endlessly renewable body. Body embracing its middle passage, a middle body - a neat and efficient one, a body of knowledge. This body is tempered: more desirous, less desirous, cognisant inside, cognisant out. Unashamed and more embarrassed, by everything - more public and more private. Functional, useful - mostly - blips of disfunction, signs of deeper bewilderment, signs of breaking down. Pain-seasoned, sensation-drenched, appreciating everything and nothingness, purpose and purposelessness. Less emotional. Tired of same movements. Wanting to learn something new. Waiting.
Waiting: for winter, for surprise, for revelation, for new discipline, for a guitar, for a good voice, for a new lover, for an old lover, for a current lover, for inspiration, for dinner, for intoxication, for death, for sun to depart frosted peaks stained red.