At 14:22
I make myself tea
from some of the leaves
I’ve managed to keep dry
between the pages of a book
I wrap a blanket
around my legs
and I sit down
in my ergonomically friendly chair
to write
Little did I know
that turning the shape of my torso
into the letter “S''
would have such an impact
At the present moment
I’m a firm believer
of keeping a position
where your head is straight,
your eyes are focused,
and your jaw is relaxed
You know
whenever my jaw is clenched
I’m reminded
I’m trying too hard,
including being too forceful
with these routines
That can really make me feel
like an extra
in my own life
Sometimes I just feel
secondary to the plot
That I’m the kind of person
who resides in the peripheries
of any bystander’s
attention span
Actors,
they’re not there
to merely mimic
natural expression
and plausible scenarios
they act to create tension,
to tie a thin rope down your throat,
and gently pull up your intestines
one by one to lay them out
on display for you
But recently
I’ve come to learn
that I am necessary
to a greater plot
At 14:30
I start my writing session,
just like a pianist
who dexterously spends hours
warming up her fingers
through repeating scales
and memorizing the work
of other composers,
computing apprehension to detail
I’ve learned that
14.30 is the exact time
when I’m well able
to veer into my own work
In my writings
I like to revisit places
and situations
In the past year
these places have become more
tantalizing
They’ve been coated
with a pungent flavor
hard to really place my finger on
I know
that the voice
speaking to me
is leading me through
imaginary landscapes
for a purpose
that is not mine
The memories aren’t mine
but I lend her stories
from my life
There is not much conversation
between us,
it’s an intuitive act
and therefore it’s crucial
that I start at the exact same hour
every day,
one that I’ve come to know
as a playful and light hour
I’m unsure whether her place
really exists on this earth,
but it feels very familiar
She feels familiar
It feels too easy to say
that I feel like we know each other
“from a past life”
but I say it anyway
I find comfort
in documenting her version
of a life
One day she tells me;
The things she told me
were so terrifying
I could only take her in
for a short moment a day
So I decided for
what you may consider
a pedantic structure
one without considered sensitivity,
but may I remind you,
after six rounds of 25 minutes of
interval writing
my fingers are nearly frozen
When I round off my writing sessions
I’m usually exhausted
and I make myself a warm meal
I eat in silence
and if the electricity has been on
for enough time to let me charge my phone,
I call someone,
a family member or a friend
These days
they are all in remote places
If I’m feeling social,
as in chatty,
or a bit needy,
I visit my neighbor
who lives down the street
near the abandoned antique shop
there are not many of us left
on this formerly busy street
most shops relocated
when the electricity broke
what must have been
10 months ago
Was it all just a
sophisticated déjà vu?
The things she had seen before
was perhaps just a
confused hippocampus?
It’s not that I roll back my eyes
and let her demon possess me
Our deal is that I
create new stories
and narratives
from fragments of her life
She holds the seeds in her hand
and I tell her
where to disperse them
I am her ghostwriter
But she is the real ghost
Our roles really confuse me sometimes
When things get to my head
I like to chew eucalyptus gum
and light some incense
that smells like a herbalist
got abducted by a team
of researchers from Primark
to formulate
a scent for their
loungewear section
It’s not very far off
I actually got my incense
from the TK Maxx-store
opposite my flat
It was just there,
in the abandoned mess
on the floor,
a few months back,
when our pipes had started to freeze
Today I light the incense
and I tell myself;
I need to set my own boundaries
I make time for her
similar to my therapist
making time for me
in their calendar
With patience,
understanding
and a firm border,
and not with bewildered compassion
When I once ask her about all of this
composition of self,
she tells me this:
all that is called world is ungraspable
you cannot retouch it
you need to erase it
to rebuild it
When I was a child
my mother lived
just by the edge of our country
After the edge there was water,
and on very clear days,
a silhouette of something
past the horizon
could be seen
We gave it cryptic names
Turned it into a kingdom
of dysfunctional
royal family members
In our shared fabrications
the royal family were fantastical,
crooked beings, they wore
rag-like clothes,
really ill-fitting cycling shorts
and moth-eaten t-shirts
Their make-up couldn’t stick
to their face
so an eye shadow would easily
become a tear
North of our house
were ice sheets
that formed their own
sovereignty
<3 - 2023-12-29 13:36:28 - <3<333333
adolphus50@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:37 -
- 2022-10-06 00:56:37 -
adolphus50@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:35 -
joan14 - 2022-10-06 00:56:35 -
Developer - 2022-10-06 00:56:33 -
Developer - 2022-10-06 00:56:25 -
shannon_boyer@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:09 -
- 2022-10-06 00:56:08 -
shannon_boyer@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:06 -
joan14 - 2022-10-06 00:56:05 -
shannon_boyer@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:03 -
joan14 - 2022-10-06 00:55:57 -
118 Yundt Burg - 2022-10-06 00:51:14 -
- 2022-10-06 00:51:14 -
118 Yundt Burg - 2022-10-06 00:51:13 -
Suite 574 - 2022-10-06 00:51:12 -
118 Yundt Burg - 2022-10-06 00:51:11 -
Suite 574 - 2022-10-06 00:51:03 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:45 -
- 2022-10-06 00:50:44 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:43 -
nico.franecki@bdcimail.com - 2022-10-06 00:50:42 -
nico.franecki@bdcimail.com - 2022-10-06 00:50:40 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:38 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:21 -
- 2022-10-06 00:50:19 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:17 -
baylee_harris@bdcimail.com - 2022-10-06 00:50:15 -
baylee_harris@bdcimail.com - 2022-10-06 00:50:13 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:08 -
E - 2022-04-11 00:22:06 - so beautiful
- 2022-04-11 00:21:49 -
- 2022-04-11 00:20:38 -
*_* - 2022-03-31 12:01:05 - I love it!!