A thought too horrible to remember. Not worth writing down. As soon as I try to put it into words I think: “is this worth remembering? Probably not, no” then the task becomes one of forgetting, soothing, erasing, blotting out, superimposing something nicer onto, ignoring. To make weeks, seasons of this. It’s exhausting.
I feel like I’m always fighting a little. It’s that heightened state of panic. I worry about my health. I think it’s not good to have constant low-level inflammation I think it’s bad for my to always be fighting a little, for my glands to always be a little bit swollen.
I woke up this morning and I thought I should look I should check but there’s no good news. Only more shell. More debris, more sharp things. What was I going to forget again? Oh yeah.
I’m here I’m cooling. I’m your girl bunny
I’m boiled hoof. I’m waste I’m just here to combine to exist in interstices. Everyone wants to know each other around through against me. Why be connective tissue. Why be plumbing. Not that it lacks glamour but it’s just so nowhere.
I thought these worth thinking of, writing down, but no. I mean why even bother trying to make something beautiful.
at 4:47 PM