if it's heads it's love, tails is trauma

fluorescent light bulbs are weird, I mean I know they are going to solve the environmental apocalypse (smirk giggle fart), but their light riles me up, stops my heart when I notice, draws attention towards stark red imperfections. It is artificial, nasty, ubiquitous, I I I refuse to adopt them as beacons of sustainability dammit I'd rather this room be soft and if we can't see each other by candlelight then... forget the eyes. I'd rather taste your elbows any day.

In the living room of the bao, my mind categorically refusing to shed more light (automatized metaphors, harumph) on totalitarianismmythsofimaginedcommunitiesthestatusofbeliefdrybodilyfluidsemptinessnowait imeankenosis

I want the fluorescent lightbulbs to turn into the sun, and not just any sun but the sun rising over the waterfall in serra velha perfectly, randomly timed to my sun salutes... and then, yeah, my mind will expel the speed, coffee, and command to IDENTIFY PROBLEMS, CHARACTERIZE ANTI-MEANING, FOCUS focus billions of lenses that are all, after all, metaphorical. No real camera, no real rocks to observe over centuries (who will be there to click the shutter?), rocks that catch the sunlight and paint fuzziness over the edges of my brain. Did I leave those behind in Brazil?

Remember: yoga is an excellent replacement for sex. And maybe the breathing exercises of Wilhelm Reich awaken that same serpent to rise up through our centers and fill us with satisfying, shaky inner warmth like gin like coitus like return to a person that you love. I....love to love and to affirm love, and it's ok if you can't say the same thing back in words, but just don't call it painful, don't insist that it's obscene.

Remember: breath, body, banana trees.

Dismember: truth

remember: meaning and seeds and (az, don't judge) smiles