These last 7 days….
These last 7 days have plumbed new depths of depravity and wretchedness…
These next 7 must be recovery of control at the helm of this dangerously listing ship. Zac’s special gathering, an adventure, many strangers, no doubt all curious if not simply thoroughly decent – perched on the frontier, proper wild ocean framing the scene of celebration. I must be more complete, sewn together the dizzying descent to awful levels of dissolute.\\
/ A dreamy dreariness struggling to find reasons to keep myself from falling further to scattered pieces, now tightly bonded and prone to feckless, reckless, abandonment of reason and sense and the more I feel alone, unloved by myself, the more appalling, even unwittingly wicked I become, the more I leech intense to others far yet in attempt to hold them so close I can hide from the grief, despair, hopelessness in my blizzards of virtual ink…
My direction of travel appears gloomy which I fear I’ll take wherever I roam, hiding in my words, avoiding revealing my grotesque close up as the reflection in the eyes of loved ones would finish what is left of my shattered remains. I cannot be sure if I can save myself…from myself. Dangerous degradation and disastrous debasement ease into my lapse of all restraint.
Reborn in the crisp Summer tides I emerge from that world into this nearby and connected world of sand before land a different beast, wind has been found and caught in my sails no longer Swiss cheesed, repaired anew….the swirling sinking into hideous arrested, a spirit revived, the alien within awoken from deep space, called back to continue, create, adventure…
Helene (Jouve), as with Anais, is too beautiful, even magic, to read at home, only in natural scenes where symphony of brazen breeze, tides, indistinct chirps and indolent squawking of winged beasts, no human voices only words of wind wave flapping limbs…
There is a gloom to that house I despair to call home, the garden aside which abounds with LIFE, maybe a curse is within, a foreboding long dormant then roused by my sheer intensity, a haunting shadow which follows and is escaped from solely with ancient salve in the salt waters and protective amulet born of lunar glare from above, for I’m ever a child of the moon, She is a goddess to all us animals and the great body of unfathomable depths that calls me from the shoreline and beyond, revives me, causes me to be reborn, reanimated, before spitting me back towards the land…perhaps as messenger of the moon, sent to spread the Word, a Lunar Missionary recharged and given deliverance in the wonderland of weightlessness…
I’ve become the unliving, yet exist somehow still…
drew, lured into my ghoul embrace an essence of late,
after we entangled on street, behind closed doors, mutal feral abounding,
i aimed for the beach…dizzied, unthinking, close to unfeeling, bereft of any semblance of vitality,
heeded my eternal call,
spat out,
curled into a ball in a divot cave maybe the wild beasts created for me,
and briefly wrote these lines,
Wading into,
Wild WIND swept Waves still With her,
Whispers,
When my tongue Was swimming in her ambrosia Waters,
Wandering Within Essence of WIcked Wanton Witchery
She didn’t Wash aWay..
all aflutter and have been debauched, dissolute, disassembling of late in dark and desperate ways.
No need to share more of my woeful wanderings in words,
im trapped in words, in letters…
Each letter is not owning me, but finding me as my totem.
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