I want to write something. Say something. Have been silent for so long. Havent listened to myself think. Just thought and acted on it. The one problem I have with this mode of being is that its very condensed. It has no space for time and its ability to take itself up. Fucking miserable really.
Being in my own head now feels foreign. Not emoting through my voice and not through some PC email where I have to keep my ideas and feelings to myself. Its beautiful. I almost want to write poetry. Because fuck why not rhyme if I want to.
Funk doesnt even begin to describe where I am. Tar seems alot more like what Im sinking into. I see the target but havent pulled the trigger. Like I know the shot will be there when I do. It wont. This existence is fleeting. It can mean minutes, hours, years or decades. Id have said seconds but really if you had a few seconds left most likely youre done by the time its over. Unless you knew the time left. Ive been in that room. I can feel time even now slow. Being back in a space waiting for what was forever. Yet not enough time. It didnt resonate quite yet. Its ripple is still affecting whats left of the world that day left behind. My head keeps going back to it. Even I guess when it doesnt mean to or even seem to it is.
I really dont even know what to say. Or really what I want to say. Maybe its all bottled still. Not able to leave where it is being held. Contained. Supressed and buried. Because I dont know what would come out if I opened that cage again. There are no shortcuts, you cant run before you walk. If you do beside the immense bruises you'd have trying to figure out how to slow down you risk permanent damage. Because there must be a base. But I write this because Im afraid. I can be me, I still dont understand why I dont allow that for myself. Im cavalier, my gut has rarely not paid off but has left a scortched earth in its wake. Reality I think needs to be addressed.
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