IDEA RIFFING
1/14/23
There is a place / state that strongly limits what I will write and show people. In fact, I'm feeling like comments were not the point of the journaling out loud, I might turn them off starting now.
Uncertainty is a big part of the place I avoid sharing. Lack of confidence. Because even if I'm saying something pretty out there, if I say it in a way that feels confident, that still seems more
1/28
Do I dare write when I want to be hidden. How can I convey all the nuance ? Can you find me in the dark without your phone flashlight ?
I can feel the hatred. I am changing. It feels enough right now to allow myself to take a break from thinking.
2/16/23
The poetic prose. An integration of. It could not be one without the other, even though I tried to separate things again and again. It is interconnected. Literally everything. There is nothing present without it. This subject has been brewing. Subject as an attempt to write. I will continue writing. But words morph between my very lips. And they never will convey the sensational experience we can kkknnoowww when sitting together amongst the trees peacefully. Words will allways pull at my edges, box me into corners. But don't get me wrong, I love them. Literally. I build worlds with these sounds and letters. We are in a world built of sounds and now letters.
We had the desire to see eye to eye. To be able to prove we were feeling the same things, communicating the same messages. We wanted to know for sure. Because for a second that made everything okay, to be able to survive one more day. But now days go on end to end. And did we ever really know anyway ?
I built this whole city on a premise that no longer is relevant. But I crafted a material life. I would have to break that bond to something I've given so much power. What if being loyal is grasping to my old forms just because I set them there.
