World Away

I am sitting outside on this mid-October day, in a state of oblivion regarding the fact that I have just over a week to do EVERYthing.  It's not hyper, that bole.  The high wind will pick up and toss me into another language and form, my eyes resting on things my children never saw.  Thank you, Goddess; it will help to be free of these mindprints, free of the way I slip into Quentin and Sarah's frame, voice, shape while regarding the home to which they have become --what do we say?-- insensible.

And speaking of insensible:  my body/brain seems to be manufacturing its own sedative.   Last week I was a twitching, list-making mess, wondering where in the Universe was the cashflow for this folly?  This week I am just present - there isn't even a  sense of trust or precognition or rhei.   It's not Zen so much as an irreversible fatigue with the argumentative nature of existence.    "Pipe down, World.  Give yourself a fucking break."

Havoc floats by and waves.   I have said in its writing that I will wrap myself around the real world again, I will hold it in my heart and go dark and dark until Time herself is reduced to a simple green comma, curled out and holding the last white tear.