For some reason I like it here, Big Bookstore have to travel through several miles of concrete sprawl to get to and it is hot today, July hot in May, mug wall choke dust in the throat. I don’t mean to and won’t complain. It was so cold for so long I’ll take anything that doesn’t jangle my bones or prick my fingers with the tiny stars. Just with July hot in May the heat fumes are surface stuck and release on impact of rubber to tar. So traffic feels a long time extra and your destination not totally worth it when you arrive.
But here I am, came to write~came to blog. Something I can do, one of the only things there is, just for me. For no one else to feel the fever dissipate up and dissolve off the muscles behind my collar bones. For me no one else knows about. For me to see me, or to not, or in this case, admit I don’t know what I am looking for at all.
I leave therapy less certain than when I arrived but feeling better anyway. No, there’s no reason to dredge it up, but in the middle of last night still there was childhood anxious and afraid ringing its hands. Twisty gut and heart pound. I want to blame it on Brasil but know that Brasil is not the cause, is more the cure. Ten years of avoidance, insecure attachment looks ambivalent as hell when you’re doing the dance~
Or sexy as hell, and the boring premature let down orgasms that come with that lame same ol same ol pretend there’s more to it than that nonsense. Time waste. That’s what I have to show for 10 years? I smile and even my therapist agrees, the ambivalent defense at once also mechanism of my own vision. Enough so that I also built–no man could stop me–my dream come true~
And that’s what scares the shit out of me now. If you were here would you pathologize it? Is this my own self sabotage?
It’s true I am so fuckn ready
to cut and run.
Chugging along concrete stop starts too much traffic for even switching lanes. Feels right, feels exactly like exactly where I’m at. No more time to waste. Go, and don’t look back. Only this, this one singular precious life~
And in the imaginal space the image is wayyy up, cliffside, upon the precipice, on the edge somehow, again? Beholding the all the all the all there is to see. Way down happy valley below, a place I have come to in journey before, soulscape of him and me.
Of what could be my whole new world? It is too early to tell.