i wrote this a few weeks ago. i want to type it up to keep it, and to share, i suppose. here is some freewriting, blog. (it will have caps because that is how it is on the page. this blog is reverting to proper grammar, little by little. i am resistant.) i will say that i am very proud of the last line.
I wanted so much to create something lovely, to do something good, but right now I am feeling like the way seaweed feels under your feet, except now I am the seaweed, and I know I am making people very uncomfortable (at least this is how I perceive myself) I am squishy and malleable and easy to toss right back into the water without a second thought. I distrust myself. I have nothing to say about other people at the moment; they bore, tire, overwhelm, and amaze me. I am sickened by them in the way children are after eating too much candy, and the way children are when they first see a bird get hit by a car. I watched the bird go down with a lollipop in my hand and there was nothing to do but sit down and think.
Nobody is quiet enough anymore. I think, anyway. Quiet is good. There are too many cars and stores and people. The quiet I want so much is so very loud. Water, water, water and animals.
Jump right in.
Pillows make me feel old and my head gets heavy and I get weak and I can't help but subscribe to whatever magazine they're selling. The sleep isn't great but the dreams are delicious.
Changing clothes like walking on water like eating dust like cutting hair like smelling skin like peeling oranges. It is all the same; one like the other.
I have nothing to offer.
Words can't carry me very far but I hop on their broken backs anyway, yelling apologies and throwing my fists towards the sun.