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crowsSenses are important to me.
For having a very tenuous spirit connection to my body (or perhaps because of this, I occasionally toy with the idea that this is exactly why the following is true), I am a very "physical person". I want connection with the world around me, the kind of connection that comes through the body and not the intellect (I want that kind, too, but it's second). I internalize better by taking things in through my senses, rather than only my mind. That's why there is always music, because it lives so deeply rooted in the body.
While this applies to all senses, touch is foremost among them. The realm of touch is where my strongest sense-memory lives. Most of my precognitive dreams, when I can identify them, happen in terms of knowing how something was going to feel. (For the record, this is not a very useful form of premonition). Though sometimes I shuffle it away and forget because I let other people tell me what my own shit means, and I don't defend myself well enough, this has always been true. There's a glimpse of it in some old fucking poetry right here,
This: that how I want to understand
Is cheek to cheek, is
Mouth to mouth.
And it remains true. Even though I don't write poetry about it anymore. This is my body, I live here.
Touch quickly what you may, remember and forget, and all transact as if each touch were fatal and the last. (some Aiken, that.)
I want to know things. I want to touch them, listen to their hum, put them in my mouth. I want the circuit of closure and I want to follow the burning electricity all the way down. That's going to be what kind of a year it is. Might be more than one. This isn't a method of living with the achievement of a single goal in mind that might satisfy it.
Driving this afternoon, everybody in the city was a strange and colorful apparition. In this college town, I'm accustomed to seeing some unusual citizens in my community, but I didn't see a single ordinary person who was not some kind of strange caricature the entire way to and from school. I'm not confident I was in the town at all.
There's something here about cluster points, about all those billowing layers of material riveting together in moments or places, and somehow you're not in your world, you're not in a world, but you're in all worlds somehow. I got that kind of a feeling, today. I'm not really sure how to describe it well, so I will do so poorly. It's something about the air and the light on my skin. It's different.
For having a very tenuous spirit connection to my body (or perhaps because of this, I occasionally toy with the idea that this is exactly why the following is true), I am a very "physical person". I want connection with the world around me, the kind of connection that comes through the body and not the intellect (I want that kind, too, but it's second). I internalize better by taking things in through my senses, rather than only my mind. That's why there is always music, because it lives so deeply rooted in the body.
While this applies to all senses, touch is foremost among them. The realm of touch is where my strongest sense-memory lives. Most of my precognitive dreams, when I can identify them, happen in terms of knowing how something was going to feel. (For the record, this is not a very useful form of premonition). Though sometimes I shuffle it away and forget because I let other people tell me what my own shit means, and I don't defend myself well enough, this has always been true. There's a glimpse of it in some old fucking poetry right here,
This: that how I want to understand
Is cheek to cheek, is
Mouth to mouth.
And it remains true. Even though I don't write poetry about it anymore. This is my body, I live here.
Touch quickly what you may, remember and forget, and all transact as if each touch were fatal and the last. (some Aiken, that.)
I want to know things. I want to touch them, listen to their hum, put them in my mouth. I want the circuit of closure and I want to follow the burning electricity all the way down. That's going to be what kind of a year it is. Might be more than one. This isn't a method of living with the achievement of a single goal in mind that might satisfy it.
Driving this afternoon, everybody in the city was a strange and colorful apparition. In this college town, I'm accustomed to seeing some unusual citizens in my community, but I didn't see a single ordinary person who was not some kind of strange caricature the entire way to and from school. I'm not confident I was in the town at all.
There's something here about cluster points, about all those billowing layers of material riveting together in moments or places, and somehow you're not in your world, you're not in a world, but you're in all worlds somehow. I got that kind of a feeling, today. I'm not really sure how to describe it well, so I will do so poorly. It's something about the air and the light on my skin. It's different.