it becomes clearer why my lama wanted me to archive everything. re-reading the last period of time, even the smallest part of it, reveals something to me that brings a shuddering flinching sob.
jhana and the brick wall
archival. managing not to actually hit the brick wall this time. interesting.
scrabbling scrytch-not-scrytch
scrytching not-scrytch but damn if it isn’t all scrytch and maybe that’s the real point.
a big scar (scrytched)
a big scar, even from afar, a big scar, as big as you are, floating into view like a car following an elephant’s ass. long as a touchdown on a football field. floating in, full of pain and swelling and heated blood, the sweat of striving, soaked in the skin. floating and puffing as it rises, coming like jung’s shadow. no, wait, its just more words.
sem sol
em tentar ao abrigo, evicted. in trying to shelter, evicted. em tentar conservar, quebrado. in trying to conserve, destruction em tentar ao amor, odiar. in trying to give love, finding hatred. em tentar emendar, para arruinar. in trying to amend, finding only ruin. i demasiado, odiar-me-iam. i am tired… eu sou tired de acusar e sendo acusado. tired of being accused, tired of accusing, minha raiva é mesmo tired. sore ao osso. even my anger is weary, sore to the bone.