april 24 freewrite

Convulsive social anxiety is when simply talking to others becomes a self-questioning labyrinth – a negative outcome geographical map. Of the soul. Couldn’t take my eyes off you. Couldn’t keep my glass empty of red ale too very long. Couldn’t understand the language of the silent film. There was a sunny three volunteers all in silhouette, you are invisible. What do you do? It is grueling to answer that question so many times and to know what kind of reaction warrants surprise, which kind of reaction warrants a dull nod, what kind of people are happy in their stasis, what kind of coward you are when it comes down to basic fact sharing. Buried in the lies of my anxieties. Claustrophobic and blowing off a good old reliable friend for the sake of nothing particular other than caustic depression provoked in part by sad realizations and sorry socializations and the cloudy day rain and the radio station blues the thursday crews and the part time tan lines floozy and the womps the groil. Intended consequences are a fiction. Constructing arguments with children. Sleeping 17 hours. Moving furniture in my prose and my poetry. My daily life subsumed by a dross and dull glow. From the corners. From the axis. Here I spin and puke. Slam goes the compost bin. Sweet rancor oozing out into the earth. To return to our potatoes and our gallon of water per almond almonds. Agricultural waters. Hazy political secrets. Intrigue. I am interested and bored by the same things in revolutions. Here I think the water shortage is fascinating. Here I think it is depressing. Polar bears will go extinct, is the theme of one documentary, look how the polar bear lives and hunts, says another, one without slant, but to show the beauty of the world outside the city. To comfort those who feel the primordial need to return to places pre-human in order to experience some sort of consonance with the environment that exists longer than their human – name, estate – bloodline, a bloodline that exists into grandfathers who do not have the same vascular systems, the veins are not. We are river deltas in our arms. They are amoeba. Fish. Or Sky or Mountain. I am certain of nothing these days. I know I will die. There is a certainty where much of me lacks such confidence. What will I do in the mean time I ask? What do I plan to do when I graduate? Has it truly been ten years since I first tasted alcohol? (pushing it. 9 for certain). Well then the lynx distracted me, the tiger and the buzzing of something outside. Okay. I have two hours. I have been a lazy fuck. And I must needs recover my day, my life. In order to accomplish my tasks at hand. In order to move on with life and at the same time be presently infatuated with the most current work. Forever spiralling

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