cleaning continues. sometimes i flail my arms, gasping and struggling against a current of things… junkbot… even as i write this on a scrap of paper that might whack me on the side of my face later on today.
where can i secure my thoughts? on this page, eternal? touching my diaries from fifteen years ago, i grasp eagerly for the digital, fingers slipping towards something more… luminous? light and electricity, zero’s and one’s that morph into each new environment. the big bang of shared stuff, a tsunami of stories and small scraps of captured existence. will we survive the waves of light and matter?
[once, on holiday, i lay in my dark bed and listened to the sea, growling and sighing in the distance and fantasized that we had a lifeboat in our room, ready to grab the two small life forms closest to my heart in case of emergency.]
do i feel untouched? i feel a pain, searching in the ether, wanting to feel you in my blood, behind my eyelids, in my veins, those parts unexplored, yet where i comprise myself the most deeply. i recognize this ache and stretch back to an adolescent self…