Wednesday, March 25, 2009

When I play push on the edge of my bed

I push and I pull. Of course my ownself. I just keep pushing and pulling in thoughts and words and sighs and moans and tears and shouts and I mumble imagined dialogues in between. I keep at the edge and roll a few marbles bigger than the crevices. They keep awkwardly slipping through each corner and they hit the little multi-layered multi-colored sedimentary rocks and roll down in the water. I love igneous rocks better. They should never hurt cuticles or you feel pain, horrible pain. I just take that one step because I am so adventurous and then I brood over the huge step and its shreds around, then I just sulk and gulp up the whole thing as if some sour milk and sleep over it. Next morning it is not so bad and a few days later it is frozen well only to come out in sleep talk when i am possessed by Mara. Smile. I fear falling down, not so much as I hate the fallenness and the inability of "Sartre on Sex and Love" to soothe. So, probably as my way goes, I will deliberately fall a few more times and sit down not to fall or just sleep on the ground if no one pukes on it.