that sometimes shuts up sorrow’s eye

August 27, 2011

Sleep’s my answer to most things, now. Terror, panic, grumpiness, uncontrollable moods that take me and erase me and write their names over my own lips, sear themselves into my ribcage, molten gold in the breath. Molten gold in the volcano of my insides. The only thing that answers is turning the whole thing off, like restarting the computer. Restart the body and maybe the brain will right itself too, reboot correctly, fix its own viruses with sleep or restore itself to a previous, saved version. I don’t think it’s the correct answer but it’s the easiest. And for now the least harmful.

Words are falling wrong in my head again. I think I’ll keep this one private, at least for now. I can’t seem to get things less scattered, more- focused. I remember thinking this in second year of university, that exact same point- feeling too scattered to write. I wonder if they’re related.

I thought I was feeling clearer tonight. And previously in the day I’d wondered if I was getting worse… hnh. Maybe it was just the night that caught me, the way the night does. The feeling of freedom, of being an adult. Being suddenly aware of it, that I can do whatever I want and stay out late and wander down the waterfront and catch the tides on the Len Wheeler sculpture, by the glow of streetlamps with the muted roar of water. Words feel subtly wrong, like I’m using them wrong. Mng.

Suddenly being aware of this doesn’t mean I can think any clearer, or be any better. It was a difficult clearance. Mn.

Sleep, I think.

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