it is gravity that wants me now. summer has fought the good fight and the sun has won me over. the green in the trees outside is nigh overwhelming, in lieu of its long hiatus. the very air in the house reeks of green, now. a welcome reek. the gravity of which I speak. I will continue, for I have no choice. this sublime torturous momentum. this insurrection of will. this love and this motherfucking living. this gravity.
they say, “don’t live in the past.” they say, “don’t feel regret.” they say, “live for now and be grateful for what you have.”
I say: I live everywhere and I am everything all at once. I am drunken fucking omnipresent. I just might be god. and if so, I am a terrible excuse for a god. but, then, aren’t they all? but I digress, because that’s what I do best when I’m growing middle-fingers where my fucking brain used to be, and I’m steadily, rapidly losing my humanity. because it’s becoming steadily, rapidly clear that being human is a fucking malignancy. a tumor in need of a scalpel.
now I call the frost from the ducts, because I want to be cold. I want to shiver. I want my blood to be changed. I want to be chemically altered from the inside out & remade into another form of life. crystallized and blown apart like your god intended. broken the fuck down. I want to be ‘star stuff’ again. broken. and remade by tears and stars. that is fucking heaven. my faith for a paradise beyond this fragile cage of flesh and bone and mind and intention. bliss, in its purest, most horrifying form.
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