scrawls.

scrawls

still cheaper than therapy*

27.7.14

i pull back, quick like i've burned myself. kali, paul, legend, carina. no, this is part of it: finding patterns and so. the whirling, this is just not done. this is not real.

next day: name it. claim it. understand it. find the fuzzy edges, the borderlands, and stay away from the precipice - what does that translate to in the map of my head? it is like a mountain, steep and tempting and treacherous, (but then what isn't full of treachery and the threat of betrayal, these days?) and you see the peak shining burning a star a sun just out of reach and it's breathless and the air is so fine, so bright, and i am scared of heights after all when there's no guardrail, nothing to hold on to, and it can all crumble and collapse into the abyss. know it, chart it. the base camp can still be safety, and as much as anyone needs.

breathe, and keep my balance. if i could keep in my mind that i will never know everything, never be everything, never protect everything, never predict everything. god is everywhere. i am not. this is a hedgehog-big thing which i do not know.

In high school we read Russian poetry and i didn't appreciate it at the time - though the professor did her best, be fair; we were children, reading childish things, and it did stick. did Akhmatova ever meet Hemingway? they couldn't have: he wasn't in Paris yet, he was just a boy ... i am reading Chekhov now.

Labels: writing

scrawled @ 10:01