the-anansi

I am not a great debater. I have two main ways of seeming to disagree with people. One is when I truly just...disagree flat out. The other is more like... If I was to approach a floating sphere, I wouldn't find it offensive, it wouldn't make me angry, and I couldn't and wouldn't deny it's existence even if it broke some seeming "laws" of physics that I had assumed. But I don't see it all clearly. Some parts are dark, so I go around, poking at the shadows to make sure that there aren't holes there. I turn it upside down and spin it a bit to confirm its sphere status. And I ask it why it isn't a cube. None of this is because I deny its

I ate your heart today. It was like one of those cakes that have such pretty decorations, you can't bear to ruin it, but you have to eventually, or it'll rot. I would rather eat your heart than to let it rot for me. I ate your heart today and it was delicious. But I hated every moment of it. ... Later: I didn't eat your heart. I guess I didn't eat it. I guess I couldn't eat it. It was on fire.

He'll just eat your heart. But it's all cud anyway. And yet, I still feel the fairy tale potential. (Read the REAL text, girl! The monsters always win. They just aren't always the ones with claws.) Doesn't matter how many limbs I create to cover myself. Even Shiva or a seraph couldn't hide. Not forever.

Last night was the echo of a nightmare. My cheek and the concrete. My shoulder and the water heater. My quaking scared our spiders away and I crawled into their homes hoping to lose consciousness. Should I have called? I don't know. It's done now. Today she sat me in the smoke-screen and we watched humans crack out of caccoons and when I started to shake she sang to me, "You know I love you so. You know I love you so." Tonight I heard a melodious sonnet from flaming tongues above and I'm fixed upon it but it wants nothing of my love. I helped and helped and helped and ran away. But I've HELPED and HELPED and HELPED. It's ok. And on the s

Looked on the floor and saw ANOTHER ONE. Those books my parents collect and cling to like seatbelts that won't fasten. (We neeeeed the 'click'!) The fronts always have some sort of nature-y thing. butterfly. sun. hands. egg. sky. It says boldly, "No, no! That won't do at all! Your head doesn't belong there....HERE, put it HERE and you can Change Your Life! Change Other People! Change Everything!" (But they keep buying these books so nothing ever changes.) It says, "Clap your hands together twice and spin around, repeat our cotton-mouth mantra and for Christ's sake (Praise Him!) Be GOOD. Then the glow will come back, your brain will have

I want to pull back his membranous wall and wrap it around me to learn as I crawl. Hook my arms under his back of head in my hands. Ours brows bowed together, I'll whisper, "Let's dance."

The daylight saved some time but there's never enough to do all I want to to hear all the songs on all the fingers on all the tongues to draw all the points that make the lines that make the forms that make the ideas that make the meanings that make the thoughts that make the emotions that make the convictions that make that actions that make the change. I want to read every book I've ever read over again and memorize a million more I want to smell the scent of a thousand pages rushing past on my cheek want to BITE those best books with my teeth because I feel like they would fill me up more than this thing I keep forgetting called mealtime.

Laying in a warm teal cocoon surrounded by warm voices and sporative rain. I recognize each one - voice I mean. The walls billow inout inout and breathe and we are the organism that squats in the damp grass native to NOSTALGIC and SAFE. Slaps of frisbees against palms. Singing two lines and then a taunt, then a laugh. Inout inout. We're singing the grace on the WEST wall, and everyone knows all of the words, even though we're sitting around a fire in the middle of a field - no walls here. Vanilla and ticks and frisbee wind. The crack of croquet and lawn chairs quietly soaking in rainwater. This organism around me sighs and shutters, shaki