yes, there is a correlation, I have started 'meditation.' I still use the friendly sarcastic quotation marks because it seems so scary that our consciousness is vast and unexplainable yet we can control it by focusing on one thing, usually our breath, and practice being in this space, in what I think is definitely another reality. One where to-do lists, and deadlines, specifically time don't exist. Funny how to have an abnormal size brain must mean more for your consciousness it is obviously going to be difficult for a human to focus on smell the way a dog does, our reality is different, I heard it on a ted talk, and that is how I will explain meditation.
I've written some strange lines at early morning in the past couple weeks, and because of class and other responsibilities, I am going to have to rely on my 5 am creative boost not my 1 am spark. And also I caught up on a bunch of reads and blog posts are catered to our attention span, they are like a sales pitch, and eager car salesman eyeing anyone who walks by, I like to ignore their gaze and pretend I cannot hear, and pick out the car that excites the organ in my ribcage, not the one that is rubbed clean with the hot stinky breath of a 6 figure male patron with gel in his hair.
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do you really wanna know so much that the sky–once again between the broken birds who only stand on the top of the highest limbs–turns to grey and the wind sweeps two pieces of hair into your eyes as if trying to blind you from your own remorse?
remorse is a word I wish that no kid before 12 has to tuck behind their ears when their parents break the news. I wish that it didn't happen over thumps on the staircase and a bag of melted chocolate chip cookies, a half smile, an offering of good and then bad, sweet and then sour, opposites attract, emotions detract.
I've been watching lots of house as per john's blog and I just finished episode 6 or so of season one, House is made to be a typical hero, one with weakness, one who seems normal, and I wish that wasn't so attractive.
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you have to stay away from the loneliness–you have to trickle down the sidewalk and ignore the split chalk letters misspelling ‘i love dinosaurs and i love mommy’ it won’t make sense and don’t try to let it
the powerful spit that stains your face after a lecture where you can’t remember the remarks a stifling grey turtleneck proclaimed. prove it mocks your poetry, and it turns into analysis of the red color behind a character's shoulder after a visit to the war room, you are drowsy, and in times new roman, 12 pt font write 'warm room' instead.
shower and take a bath and be in the water-let it cool off, take you time, let it turn cold grey and the right shade of gray, let it swirl down the black hole with hairs sticking own, let yourself be uncomfortable knowing all the scum and dirt and lice and skin cells that are the makeup of this vessel you are lying in–you are sitting down into the bodies of others who have been here: a man who can’t bathe himself and needs a caretaker to wash behind his ears, who’s blood quickly rushes to unmentionable organs when the sponge moves lower than his speckled abdomen, a woman who hasn’t washed in days because the door was closed and opening it meant releasing not only the dirt but the finger nails and trimmed bangs and eyelashes and bug bites and brainstormed ideas of why not to hurt him this way, why not to miss the conference call at six, why not to answer judy the in law's texts about the weather and a nephew she doesn't know isn't real–getting clean again, and the baby who holds a scent that can’t be imitated–the scratching-for-truth whisker of your lover touching your cheek–the softness of dirt clamping to your toes after a sprinkler–the fire alarm and the kid who stands there on earth not moving with his circles around the sun, but standing still because it wouldn't help to run
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why does the sebaceous glands make oil and why can we never get out or get clean?
enjoy dimanche,
cbnl
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