※28 December, 2011

The entire house beeps when I open any door to the outside and this household is composed of light sleepers.

If you ever wanted to know how to kill me, this is it.

Tonight, a certain series of events led me to feel like I was being absolutely suffocated, and for the first time in a week I saw the stars. Do you know how beautiful it is to feel the quietude of a countryside quiet for the first time in days? In this home, there’s an obvious disconnect between myself and nature, between my hands and the bark, between my skin and this earth. Here, where a natural, softer world is frowned upon, and all that you get is a surplus of manufactured air (which I absolutely despise [because it causes me an array of health problems, etc.])

But tonight I was unplugged, emotionally drained of everything inside of me, and I forgot how to breathe so heavily that I had to leave. Out the front door I went. Down, down the street, down the road that never saw a single bicycle, onto the pasture where I spent my summer befriending Pessoa and Salinger, and I laid in the grass with my shirt buttons undone with the rain pitter-pattering across my skin.

An ocean seeped through me where my body touched the earth. I looked up. It was just me and the stars and the overhanging jets and the small, constant drizzle of rainwater. Crooning my neck I listened as the earth came to absolute quietude. Even the rain stopped then. The earth’s rotation came to a halt. I tried catching a shooting star between my teeth but I remembered that time stops even the universe from breathing. The moonless night with its rustic purple horizon threatened towards an ambiguous dusk / dawn, and I watched as cirrus clouds tied themselves around mountains like spools of un-spun silk. My lungs inflated. Deflated. Inflated. Deflated.

Tonight I saw the stars for the first time in a week.

I came inside and my mother was waiting for me in the living room asking why in god’s name I would be outside at this hour.

The universe is my vice, I told her. Just like your cigarettes.

clavicola

(via poetrytothestars)

Infinite

I am the wind and the wind is invisible, all the leaves tremble but I am invisible, blackbird over the dark field but I am invisible, what fills the balloon and what it moves through, knot without rope, bloom without flower, galloping without the horse, the spirit of the thing without the thing, location without dimension, without a within, song without throat, word without ink, wingless flight, dark boat in the dark night, shine without light, pure velocity, as the hammer is a hammer when it hits the nail and the nail is a nail when it meets the wood and the invisible table begins to appear out of mind, pure mind, out of nothing, pure thinking, hand of the mind, hand of the emperor, arm of the empire, void and vessel, sheath and shear, and wider, and deeper, more vast, more sure, through silence, through darkness, a vector, a violence, and even farther, and even worse, between, before, behind, and under, and even stronger, and even further, beyond form, beyond number, I labor, I lumber, I fumble forward through the valley as winter, as water, a shift in the river, I mist and frost, flexible and elastic to the task, a fountain of gravity, space curves around me, I thirst, I hunger, I spark, I burn, force and field, force and counterforce, agent and agency, push to your pull, parabola of will, massless mass and formless form, dreamless dream and nameless name, intent and rapturous, rare and inevitable, I am the thing that is hurtling towards you

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