as attempts at releasings & erasings / filtering breath through a metal straw, a horn, not so much a voiding as a disgorging. As it occurs a slathered settling of sick, all over me. A pinned lassitude, feels less languid & much more lurid, like I am a dot on a map to be encircled by it. When another one puts a moralized code to it, over it, it is almost as if trying compute a speciation I am outside of. In this state.
I kept apologizing last night, out into something. This thing, out into, is indifferent, unalterable. I am always thinking out into nothing, try to inter a something where there is no place for it, Nothing cannot hold these internments. Confine of slats of sensation but so terribly lonely. A littlest concubine to the dynamic / the slats continually issued by this continued breathing.
Do you feel how tight & heavy this is. I want to tell this Nothing, I have to not do it. But there is no thing to "tell"
I am told that there is no such thing as an enduring family, a blood bind or otherwise. I know as it is said it is a kind of truth to me, but grappling with this word too in the non-space [TRUTH]. If that is the case, I think out into Nothing, that I would like to stop operating in this space, as this body. Got this inability [I know, unwillingness] to do these things, out into Nothing, without feeling doggedly defeated by the indifferent "IS"
I want to roll my body thru like a marble. Trip over the penult, I'm sure. Then a relief.
I think there may be a good deal of relief. In out.