igobymanynames

I've not written anything I feel intimately while in the moments of writing in at least a year. This is a first attempt to do so again. It starts off slow... hmm it seems to end slow to. The whole thing is slow. But it felt like a meditation while writing it.

In a moment of sharp impulse I shaved my beard yesterday. The introduction of hesitation/reason was late and easily ignored. Hours later I stepped into impulse again as I searched and found in a moment a picture, and an article. The happiness for another's well being lasted a moment.

My chest fell flat and unmovable. I shook as the headache (real but with meaning) returned. Unable to think or see or feel. yes. Unable to feel beyond these defences. I breathed heavily and my chest remained flat underneath my ribcage. This pain, so strange. My wall closing down before me in thickening bursts of cortisol. But not all the way, like before.

There is no lie in here. This pain is anger unrequitedand justified. No sympathy or understanding would call this into question. I felt that pain, confessed it and still it dominated. Anger but not hating. A disgust of knowing choices made in such fears. My brain, my chest, the shaking like being changed and trapped.

This is what I want.

This pain unjudged and clear within the I.
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The morning came and I woke with heaviness in my limbs and an odd whole exhhuberance for this world. And all day I have been sensing the lines of color and texture in things with intensity and organic rigor..