February 2, 2015 § Leave a comment

I struggle to wake this morning, first time in weeks. Take it for a good sign, terrestrial. I have missed my body

In my dream, I recall just the end, I yelled at the woman No, I can’t deal with that right now,

when she asked would I make the aubergine. And it’s odd, because I had not understood it for urgent.

I think it must be lonely to be a mathematician. I wouldn’t want to do it. 

Maybe I need faces more than the mathematician does. I don’t know.

Now there is a new flower, a tall one that I am only half sure is real.

There are little clips keeping those long stems up and they make me wince

No, I haven’t got to enjoying meat yet.

I like it when,

meeting people, they try to decipher nationality. 

It’s interesting.

Maltese, but also Icelandic

Not French and not Scandinavian and who knows what, but a little Irish at least, at least something not English

Still, nothing can go fast enough,

so this morning was a false start.

[It is our borderzones where it is created.] — No, ‘border’ is wrong; too hard, too set, too bounded. It is more like the liminal

The world likes us to be confident.


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