i think a lot about the structures of the mind and how long i resisted so utterly subjecting my mind to the impositions of education, how i preferred to let it run wild and anarchic and eventually? it ate itself up, really, inside and out and darkly and bloodily, because i picked up so many weapons and so little shields along the way.
multiverses? oh, honey - all you ever needed to taste those were to retreat into the doorways inside you. there are doors you’ve left unlocked in there, there are colours to your soul that would scorch you straight silent for days if you stared too long within.
there are castles built in there, dusty but intact, from the days when you still dreamt, you know. there are lands still unchartered from that spare dream you escaped from that other night, years ago, empty but for a lover whose breath you felt more intensely than any true kiss. there are dimensions whose equations you rewrote into perfection that tumble out into a politics so suffused with love the citizenry within your soul cries out hallelujah just for the ecstasy of existing, origami measures of rationality built into languages whose words raise kingdoms with no kings but instead parties that last not generations but entire apocalypses that burn and are rebirthed, in conceptions that unfurl beyond the constraints of time and space
what im saying is.
dont escape inside yourself - let your soul instead do the escaping, let your radical imagination tumble out breathlessly and bravely, and take the hands of those nearest and dearest and then some; and leap, leap each and every day you find the energy to, into dreaming something better beyond what you’ve been told you could (but use what you’ve been told and make it better too, if you can, if you must)
sext: i tell myself this heartache exists as a shadow absence of the united universe before the multiverses shattered us across the dimensional planes, and heaven? that’s just where all our simultaneous existences finally intersect for an eternal second, across the cartesian equations of creation.
i wish i could love you like an anarchic revolution - wild, unholy and wholly and without rules. but my heart revolts against the wilderness and every last neuron is jumping from the aisles to tender their ballot on this game changing election of the issue that gets the presidential seat at the forefront of my soul. i wish i could love you like others do religion, blindly and worshipfully and consumingly. i wish i could love you godlessly, knowing that this mortal plane was everything we would ever get and burning every last kindling within me to keep us warm.
i wish i didnt love with the harshness of a representative democracy, tabling out the pros and cons of you and me and us and the world with such cold calculating fervour. i wish i didnt see love as a political game to be won or lost, to be argued with the most nuance and passion but always at the cost of something essential along the way. i wish i knew what it would be like to be loved anything like that so i could take that system apart and embed it within me and fill the cracks that i broke into my own bones - the broken system of me, sans the arc of goodness that straightens spines elsewhere to my own.
i wish i could tell you that truth be told i could, and i do - i just try not to, because i dont think i’ll ever be worth that kind of love in return and i’d much rather draw the curtains of the ballot box of my heart and remind myself that the only candidate ever in the running was me, me, only ever me; because truth be told i can love like a dictator: desperate and insistently and viciously and that’s not a love i would wish on anyone.
There is a taste to my religion that, if I don’t pay attention, will colour me completely. It tastes like green, beautiful in its way, but not a colour that’s seen very often in my soul. I wondered if it were just a taste I had to acquire a like for, but these days I don’t know. I’ve had it lovingly spooned into my mouth, I’ve had it shovelled in aggressively until I gagged, I’ve had a facsimile of it slipped in and slid the taste around my mouth uncomfortably, thinking - this isn’t what this is supposed to taste like, surely.
I’m afraid that if I acquire a taste, I’ll forget to want the billions of other tastes there are in this world. To some that would be a comfort - find what you love and consume it and be consumed in return. But I hunger, so much - and I’m not convinced that god only placed this one apple to suffice for the rest of the universe waiting for me to try.
- adenoidal: if someone’s voice is adenoidal, some of the sound seems to come through their nose
- appealing: an appealing look, voice etc shows that you want help, approval, or agreement
- breathy: with loud breathing noises
- brittle: if you speak in a brittle voice, you sound as if you are about to cry
- croaky: if someone’s voice sounds croaky, they speak in a low rough voice that sounds as if they have a sore throat
- dead: if someone’s eyes are dead, or if their voice is dead, they feel or show no emotion
- disembodied: a disembodied voice comes from someone who you cannot see
- flat: spoken in a voice that does not go up and down. This word is often used for describing the speech of people from a particular region.
- fruity: a fruity voice or laugh is deep and strong in a pleasant way
- grating: a grating voice, laugh, or sound is unpleasant and annoying
- gravelly: a gravelly voice sounds low and rough
- gruff: a gruff voice has a rough low sound
- guttural: a guttural sound is deep and made at the back of your throat
- high-pitched: a high-pitched voice or sound is very high
- hoarse: someone who is hoarse or has a hoarse voice speaks in a low rough voice, usually because their throat is sore
- honeyed: honeyed words or a honeyed voice sound very nice but you cannot trust the person who is speaking
- husky: a husky voice is deep and sounds hoarse (=as if you have a sore throat), often in an attractive way
- low adjective: a low voice or sound is quiet and difficult to hear
- low adverb: in a deep voice, or with a deep sound
- matter-of-fact: used about someone’s behaviour or voice
- modulated: a modulated voice is controlled and pleasant to listen to
- monotonous: a monotonous sound or voice is boring and unpleasant because it does not change in loudness or become higher or lower
- nasal: someone with a nasal voice sounds as if they are speaking through their nose
- orotund: an orotund voice is loud and clear
- penetrating: a penetrating voice or sound is so high or loud that it makes you slightly uncomfortable
- plummy: a plummy voice or way of speaking is considered to be typical of an English person of a high social class. This word shows that you dislike people who speak like this.
- quietly: in a quiet voice
- raucous: a raucous voice or noise is loud and sounds rough
- ringing: a ringing sound or voice is very loud and clear
- rough: a rough voice is not soft and is unpleasant to listen to
- shrill: a shrill noise or voice is very loud, high, and unpleasant
- silvery: a silvery voice or sound is clear, light, and pleasant
- singsong: if you speak in a singsong voice, your voice rises and falls in a musical way
- small: a small voice or sound is quiet
- smoky: a smoky voice or smoky eyes are sexually attractive in a slightly mysterious way
- softly spoken: someone who is softly spoken has a quiet gentle voice
- sotto voce adjective, adverb: in a very quiet voice
- stentorian: a stentorian voice sounds very loud and severe
- strangled: a strangled sound is one that someone stops before they finish making it
- strangulated: strangled
- strident: a strident voice or sound is loud and unpleasant
- taut: used about something such as a voice or expression that shows someone is nervous or angry
- thick: if your voice is thick with an emotion, it sounds less clear than usual because of the emotion
- thickly: with a low voice that comes mostly from your throat
- thin: a thin voice or sound is high and unpleasant to listen to
- throaty: a throaty sound is low and seems to come from deep in your throat
- tight: a tight voice or expression shows that you are nervous or annoyed
- toneless: a toneless voice does not express any emotion
- tremulous: if something such as your voice or smile is tremulous, it is not steady, for example because you are afraid or excited
- wheezy: a wheezy noise sounds as if it is made by someone who has difficulty breathing
- wobbly: if your voice is wobbly, it goes up and down, usually because you are frightened, not confident, or are going to cry
on the matter of pain: there is a priority, it seems.
pain shared amongst communities, pain lying in wait in a manner you anticipate but cannot avoid: is pain that should be given a priority over the pain felt on a personal level, or a pain of one aware of the first pain but helpless in the face of it.
pain felt on a day to day basis, the pennies and cents of the currency of it - as it were. small change, change dealt to every person as a matter of fact on a more or less equal basis.
but there are the pounds. the big guns, shooting heavyweight coins onto the spines of those standing at the bottom. who wave their rights to pain angrily at those who arent as burdened, only to be yelled back with the pennies brandished back in their faces.
those who have yet to bear the pounds of pain cannot know how much heavier it weighs. how those who carry them seek to rid themselves of it, how it is a currency which only buys them more pennies of more pain and can never be purchased an escape from.
we need to share our burdens. collectively pool our pains together, collectively be open about the contents of our wallets. we have to lift the weight of the treasure so we can wince together. it is only when we share the burden of the costs that we can find the strength to start burying the dark treasure of humanity. it will weigh heavier on all, at first, but the bent in your back will straighten, and the collective lifting of the weight will push everyone gasping into a lightness they never even thought possible at all.
there’s so often talk of words as tools. as words as an inherent neutral crafted out of the raw scrambling chaos of human vocalizations and thought that we use to express ourselves. expression, is the term - funnily enough itself laden with positive connotations. as if it’s an inherent good that we pour ourselves into these moulds and tip it out. as if all the darkness of our souls turn into gold once sheathed into the cages of expression.
but what if we use words like swords? what if we unsheathe ourselves and are frightened of the rawness, the vulnerability of the state, and wield the words sharper than daggers and more toxic than poison, pressing out a safe distance for others to examine our selves and our pain from a distance from which their reactions cannot hurt us? what if we punish people for listening to our expression by barbing every word we use?
or instead: what if we use words to slice ourselves open and allow ourselves to bleed over the very edges of the universe? what if we want to let the bad blood out, but instead the good goes with it too, and we are left drained and exhausted with nothing in turn to replace the emptiness?
or what if we use words as the sword to fight our way through the thicket of our demons? what if we curl our fingers over the warmed helms of our words and strike outwards, desperately seeking to escape - except we cut more than several other people along the way, and sever several of our vital veins along with it?
it was said that fire was the tool that the gods were left jealous of humans after they had gifted it to them. with words: they gave it to us and let us decide try to warm ourselves with them only to have it burn us to ashes instead.
it really hurts when i feel im losing my grasp on words. i cant help but thing that - whether objectively or subjectively - there’s always a right way to say something. or at least one right way. so i take aim and shoot a dart into the darkness and hope i’ll hit bullseye. when i do i dont quite see as much as feel it thunk into accuracy, and a bit of tension is released from me, knowing that i’ve matched that lost shard of soul into a nestled new home that was missing its piece.
the thought that i’ve been doing ti all wrong that maybe all ive been doing is sending the shards boomeraging back to slice me up into piece is more terrifying than i can imagine.
words have always been my only weapon and comfort. that it’s been but a false comfort this whole time is something i dont know how to deal with.