Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Peaches and Scar Tissue

to eat this perfect

I am going to eat this perfect peach.
It is not going to turn brown.
I am going
to go
my now
with verbs.

Steps I have already
taken or will have
don’t Go.
Going is the only thing
that goes.
Going does, and

a now
is in doing, not done.
Or to do.
I am going\, will go
I will: go!
Walking, going

I will eat that perfect
peach. And in so doing,

(oh I am SO doing)

my peach will not have been
left. It will
not rot and I am going
to eat this perfect

hre 10.23.13


Meditating on emotional inertia. The thick, syrup gravity that holds me in bed when depression or ennui take hold. 

Doing the THINGS. This is my new proposal for the meaning of life. Or my definition of life. At surface it's often me sniping at myself, arguing that I'm not doing all the things, so I'm not really living and then
more depression.

But digging into the phrase it is doing ALL the things:
releasing, relaxing

that are life's real components. Navel gazing happens when I'm having down time and I'm alone with my navel. But really basically, truly, what I am doing is writing words. And that is the doing/verbing/living that I'm most intending to do, so letting judgment drop away I am doing in my exact now what I want to be doing in/with/through/from/for my life.

This peach was fucking delicious.
My actual physical navel is deep. It's overly sensitive and has two scars. One is a jagged tunnel remnant of a crooked belly piercing from age eighteen. I paid for it with my first art job: I hand lettered a logo on a van. The second is from two years later, a crescent moon just below the bottom of the navel. It is from the laproscopic surgery to snip out my uterus's dividing wall. It's cute: They cut a moon scar below where I used to be connected to my mother and it gave me the option of motherhood myself.

I am a symbol junkie who worships the moon and this scar story delights me.

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