juni:

I’m writing big and you’ll be able to see it. No excuses, like driving drunk and (w)recklessly, for not seeing. There were things in May that I know I was thinking of and just never got around to writing- I’m upset with myself for not having done so. I wrote them somewhere, though, right? Or do I have to try and remember? It doesn’t matter…those things are swimming around anyway. I wrote and sent Don a letter; because I felt like it. I don’t know what it says anymore. I didn’t even read it over before posting. I recently went to the gym with May and it felt great- better than all other recent gym attempts; I felt like I really did something but it was so easy. Perhaps she can be Jason a few more times with me while he is gone. I have to take care of my kitty. The barn is waiting with the other cat mewing inside. But don’t call her by her name- I want her to remain just as she is for all of us. Once named, it could change the whole thing all around/ spare parts, you.

I have spare parts for you. I’m giving them all and you’re taking them and throwing me back your own bones to share. We share one another’s burdens and neither complains nor hesitates. And sometimes it feels a little funny walking with your femur, but its just because I am not entirely used to it yet…and you are taller than me.

∞ Did I write to you about spare parts? I gave you something as tangible as words can be- or as the thoughts they create when you read them. I gave her a marriage in life and I can share one or two more. Tonight, though, I should be running and dripping sweat, slightly poisoned. Tonight I am angry, furious even. Tonight I wished I was so loose, detached, under-burdened. I thought of the human race dying and the universal expansion solving problems instantly. Mother nature, Indian giver. Indian princess if you please…it won’t matter then. If it’s frustration at these specific things, can it all inevitably lead back to me? If it does, what about D.’s question? And who started this body of ideas that is just a figment? And the figments of this body…do they too create their own? Are those, then, realistically bodies? Here we come to definitions and ambiguity. D., where is your letter? I tried to give you an explanation, but I miss my targets when I so badly want to hit them. Perhaps caring is my punishment and curse. I try not to but then bite myself wherever it is necessary and sooner than I’d like. If you, figment, idea, body, would open the door to my spleen, could it help me open it to my OWN self? How do you know if it started?

I’ve been pointing at myself all night and the hardest part is that there is no solution- so I’ve got the perfect problem…the never –ending proof…isn’t that what I always wanted? No. because remember the satisfaction from those that did have a solution? I just wanted them slightly longer, tougher. And so by this, I maybe have not given sufficient time. I am not entirely cynical, believe. And somehow I still have this desire, still please myself with this certain mystery.

∞ its funny: the concern that you bring now: not that interesting. But the other, that is growing, changing, feeling really nice, new, refreshing. But slow. Is that what is new? Nice, refreshing? More I think.

Yesterday I suggested to my father that he cut his big toe from his right foot. It is a damaged foot, damaged toe. I forget, a tractor maybe, rolling, crushing, but the point is that now there is a bolt in it and the joint barely moves and it swells up, causing pain and a slight limp. He does not recognize the affectation- although he is almost surely honest in that it doesn’t seem to impress anyone other than as a memorable fact. Then again, the memory is almost always rather fond.

∞ I am combining shades of yellow and white in my stomach today. There are a few drops of blue too…that should make for a pretty green somewhere. Too nice to give up, though…no reason either.

∞ when you dream in another language, other languages, what are you to do? You are accessing space, ever expanding (one hopes), ever changing, growing, space. At times the ropes, trails are foggy and your grasp or footing weak, loose, but you are there, something is tangible.

Sometimes you feel like you are on a roll- you know you’ve said it, put it down in a way that you can call it yours without erasing it with a name. It symbolizes some (sum) of your parts, spare or shared or covered deep. Sometimes too, you know you will ask a question you hate to ask but deeply want answered positively. With arms wide open. With legs wide open. With wrapping you up intentions and filling you up and chiding you on and cushioning you properly- for many falls…inevitable wounds. You ask for help in advance-scarring techniques and melding, welding, shielding techniques- but proper.