There was this time I turned over in my bed, wrapped in sheets and sleep, and simply fell into the ocean. The water didn't startle me. Rather the slow motion movement of cotton draped around my body lulled me into a sort of trance. And when I did finally open my eyes, the salt burned my retinas and made me feel alive like I had forgotten to be alive.

The surface was nowhere to be found. And that was fine. I didn't want to go back up top. I liked the drifting nature of everything in this environ. Like overcranking a camera- not only did motion slow down into a graceful ballet of the absurd, but time slowed down too. The octopus had its arms around me like a man might hold a guitar. This was my mother's tentacled breast. This was my safe place.