things and gatherings and artists and wine: talking about art and their art and desire witin their art and others attempts at art and where their art fits in relation to other art and what drives their art and art and art and up and up we all go into the ego pit of writhing, flexing self importance. i begin to feel nauseous. I am out of my body, hovering, then float farther away, then come back to a continued monologue. someone is talking at me and continues. I see this man with the feather in his hair talking and talking and he's talking to me, but I do not hear him any longer. He's been talking to me for some time and I smile and nod and he keeps going about the key and the feather and the importance of relations to nature and I get dizzy and impulsively I bolt for the door [exit stage left]. "It's not you, it's me," I want to tell him, but it's too late I ran. (Path of least resistance -- take the blame regardless of fault, a kind of reflexive self-mortification)
lost routine
pressure ensues
night hikes in foggy daylight
trollesque landscapes fill my waking
silence of the placid lake forest
minutia rain on webs of moss
subtle shifts of reference
emergent tales from cocoon blankets
large black spider moves down white wall
surreal dreams of complex relations fill my sleeping
comfort, entertainment, ease
unknown been there before signs
awake to coffee
desirous planned futures
please take me, accept me, welcome me
into your arms of foreign residence
allow me to keep on the piecemeal ship
half in the boat
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