i had forgotten how it felt--so quick to remember and jump back into my rippling, endless conversation. there's this buzz sitting right on top of my heart like little fingertips drumming so fast and rolling back and forth, left to right and back between my collarbones. the flashing lights from the show out on university are still popping and strobing in the back of my head, right behind my dilated eyes. and they're casting shadows into the corners of the room where i sit and surround myself with magazines and open yellow college-ruled notebooks, scattering across my dirty berber my treasures of the day; four different beer bottle-caps, leftover bus transfer, a pair of expensive looking glasses with one temple arm sloping upwards at a 78 degree angle, bright green tennis ball, and a folded letter with a girly script wishing: this one thing will be in our room, or anywhere. BUT IT WILL BE ONLY OURS. i thought those words were beautiful. i thought they were beautiful and i took them home with me, holding them near my chest.
i keep chiming out these thoughts and strings of sentences with words and side notes locked onto the punctuation of the ends of my drawn out, breathless whispering to form this sort of stream of nonsense. my voice feels like bells. my voice sounds like sand. so soft and stupid and hushed and airy. i tried to read some of my poetry out loud and i think it's the first time i've heard my written words escape my listless, livened tongue. i thought the sound waves were ruining the interior structure of my scribbled out prose, though, so i stopped pretty fast and asked him if he thought i had a raspy voice--smoke choked yet.
he said no.
i said that's a shame.
i've always wanted a voice coarse like sandpaper and echoing,
ringing.
ringing.
and there are really only three girls in my life. one who is born from the movement of water, another who makes sound by striking the air, and a third, who is embodied only in the human voice. i've known the first for probably sixteen months, second for twelve, third for two. and they burn me, they drown me, they pull me and words and lyrics and these pretty thoughts about simplicity and contact come spilling from my dripping lips like a mouthful of dry skin spat spat spat into the air. flaking down. building up. this is how sounds and silences find me--abrasive, rich emotions, raw, and lots of air-brazen cursing. you are the goddesses who inspire creation through mesmerizing me and making me stumble around dizzy, stricken and sick and smiling so simply. and i can see myself falling too far into this now and becoming a cawing, chattering magpie just like the rest of them. but i don't care. if you're a bird. then i'm a bird.
meditation and practice.song.
and a memory.
and i can already feel those bugs crawling up and down my legs in slow rushes of fast, hot blood that's been on overdrive for hours. my skin splotched and fine hair standing on end and i don't think i've ever had this many nasty dry, nasty oil, just plain nasty patches on me.
i can still feel my heart jumping underneath my ribs.
knocking at my windpipe.
let him out now, while the world is so full of grace and gentleness--
so easily explained.
so easily explained.
let it out now!
my life is still illuminated.
halos of light around my mellow, mellow, yellow eyes.
