rain words

i want to make french toast for myself, coffee, berries and cheese and butter. place the simple objects on a simple placemat at a simple table on a porch. a porch that overlooks a landscape of the most basic earth design. grass, trees, sky. green green blue. some clouds, a little sunlight, a gentle breeze.

and animals.

birds of every color going about their unimaginable business, wanting to be left alone. their life cycles and behaviors are a complete mystery to me. little bugs living a life five thousand times smaller than me. i am the giant that haunts their dreams.

the taste of my food is similar to that of cardboard, with some sugar on top. closing my eyes i am reminded of all the places i have eaten this very same food before, in completely different lifetimes. my mind wanders.

i am wearing the most fundamental garments of humanity; shirt, shorts, socks, sneakers. all of an easily forgettable color. my hair and skin blend with each other, indistinguishable from one another. my eyes are slits in skin through which i am able to imbibe the world.

sounds and sounds and sounds fill my ears, holes in the side of my head that act as the miraculous entrances to a fleshy inner world. sounds as luxurious as silk, fine and grainy as sand, soft and bubbly like soap or gentle and sensual as rain drops on fine skin surface, warm and woolen like mittens, cold and icy as snow branches, sharp and piercing as broken glass, rough as a cat's tongue, hot as the candle with which i burned myself as a child. i dance to all of these sounds, these sensations, these beautiful feelings for which i am eternally indebted the world.

blue and goldyellow and hot orange and meadow green and flowers of pink and white and translucent non-colors, see-through satin buds and silver auras around embryos that tickle your eyelashes. dandelions and snowflakes mingle in summerwinter and the newfound firewater burns pleasure within me. this is the world. these mountains and hills and forests and oceans and rocks and blades of grass, dark sticky mud that absorbs all, white sand that invites me to it's depths until i suffocate and die.


no, you do not die.

you can never die.

you were always dead.

death is life and life is death.

the world cares not for this very human distinction


i don't know what

life is anymore. a cycle of loss and losing, people coming and going, loving me then destroying me then disappearing. i didn't want to look at this photograph but now i am, and it is all rushing back to me. i love my family, everyone who was with me from the very beginning and is still there. we are all going through this together, falling off cliffs and then trying to rebuild.

how cruel