1. that which cannot be contained overflows from my pen, lips, slammed door, clipped phrasing, stompy feet — if i’m lucky, it lends itself to song and my vocal chords agree to vocalize, at least for a little while, but not lately. that which cannot be contained builds up until i manage to locate the release valve, evasive fucker.
2. that which cannot be contained: tears, laughter, joy, loneliness, love, spaciousness, hunger, anger, frustration, agitation, emotional flashbacks, words written, selfies taken and deleted
3. disconnection is a way of life, a default. my doctor says this is my earth energy tending toward stagnation — be aware of your tendencies and when you feel yourself pulling away, counteract. but when i pull away, there’s good reason. in the confinement of my home, boundaries grow lax and if space cannot denote boundary, then i must go away, inside.
4. every version of myself, at once, populate my interior, voices going on & on like train tracks side by side by side, sometimes overlapping, and i sense a distant collision, but as a pebble thrown into a pond ripples outward, those final echoes of ripples are what reach me.
5. if all of us are here at once, i appear [colloquially] schizophrenic, labile, dysregulated — pick a term. life is experienced as a series of polaroids rather than as a moving picture, fluid. it is then that i must set each photograph down, in order, to connect the dots, find that through line, identify how the hell the center holds when centripetal force is lost and gravity slips away.
6. my words, they come and go at will — whose will, i’m unsure, but not my own. today i don’t have to scrounge around for them so i take advantage of this verbosity and write till my hand hurts