April 17, 2008 - 4:09
Sister Emery was the musical conductor. She maintains a looming eeriness in recollection, for her ill wigs, pocked complexion, chest rattle. Sometimes she�d neglect to line one of her eyes...after tittering conference, none of us knew what to think about that. Seems insane.
She lost her arm two or three years ago, and I know she still conducts, because I saw it, with the false forearm. Some sort of tragedy mastery, I guess, but they should consider the children.
-The phrase �I will kill you� keeps popping up. It both amuses and inspires me.
-I�ve been gauging the goodness of something by whether my bowels soften or flutter.
-I got cut in the eye by a box!
-Time is going both quickly and slowly. For two days I�ve woken up to small cuts on my fingers. They�re short in length, but deep, and must be caused by something thin in width. Like paper, but I don�t sleep against paper--except books in the corridor between bed and wall. Maybe I�m punching books in my sleep? I would, too.
-The down of nightmares.
-My current organic fixation seems almost more like devolution compared to my former embrace of any toxic old food. Neither are quite balanced, and obviously, there are benefits to being aware of what I put in my body- but it also seems to feed my fear of the world, my fear of failing health, and implants a deeper shame in the inevitable occurrence that I consume something odious. My life is a cycle of deprivation, then unsatisfying indulgence.
-Without fail, the mail man will compliment me on the occurrence of bright blue in my clothes. I like this about him.
-Adolescent girl aligned herself with her father. They were simply more alike; but I�ve since learned that something he gave me doesn�t work, and today I'm desperately wishing to be like my Mother.
�Maybe it�s selfish, but I just decide to be happy, and so I am.� Oh. OK.
-If you love it you save it
-In desperation I throw appeals to the God who sustains my parents. The same God who sustained me, when I was sustained by my parents. I think this means that God is my parents.
-In the left curve of the left middle cuticle, there�s blood that has dried black on top of a throbbing pain. My low belly is pressed against the desk, and is panting against the pressure. The 2 rows of my teeth meet each other in a near perpendicular grind, my eyes peer around in the sockets with dry friction in their movement. The lid is flaccid. My chin is tilted two inches from my clavicle, angled towards the left one. This makes a strain where my spine meets my skull. Coated too dry tongue, becomes tacky in contact with its roof. The tops of my feet are too aware of shoe. My colon is not sure what�s going on. My knees aren�t kidding around. I have to pee. This is supposed to be meditative.
-Less femme juice, please.