kenyon

trying to drop all unnecessary agendas.

wish i could drink and lose myself.

instead i have to try. I know.

i miss corresponding with prisoners, but it can take lots of energy. people get invested really quickly. i can still send books to folks semi-annonymously tho.

i get these quiet spells where my "voice" feels locked and quiet. i try to plough through it with forced bravado but of course it's obvious.

somewhere along the way i lost the line between public and private. some kind of postmodern surgery performed on my while i slept. they tweezed out my boundaries
and flicked them away. now somehow it feels like i'm often
performing.

have to consciously guard personal details the way a leprosy patient who has lost sensation in his fingers must guard them from rats while he's sleeping. because it's not the nerve damage that does that to them,
it's the vermin.

soon i'll venture to the clinic in vermont where they keep on tweaking my treatment protocol, helping me build up strength. they love me there, i'm their pet case study, the one that came back from near-dead. it's strange to love people you've technically only spent a few hours with on a few scattered occasions, but i do.

got ahold of my chart from a local doctor, saw how he measured my recovery. "good color, fun banter." i've always flirted
with doctors
but without intent or desire, the way you might find yourself "flirting" with an aunt or a cousin.

who's with me here.

kenyon food:



salmon with brown rice, red chard, extra virgin coconut oil, minced garlic ginger and fennel, tamari.

this dinner is making me
thirsty.

<3,
k