Photo by Viennese artist Eva Schlegel

Sometimes the holy writing spirit possesses you.
There’s no summoning it. I’m beginning to understand that now.
Not like that. Not like: SIT DOWN TO WRITE AND BE INSTANTLY INSPIRED.
There are conditions
There are kinesthetic conditions
There’s running downhill in the park as the rain approaches and the top of your head flies off like a hat getting blown away by a gust of wind.
There is inside the sensation of bodies touching bodies that move toward each other bodies that approach trembling but without fear.
There’s the orange light in the rain-paved streets and the stranger under the bridge.
Hello stranger I am lost.

These are things I cannot generate my own, alone in a room.
There are kinesthetic conditions
Sore muscle conditions
And the understanding that the more I move,
The more I will be able to access the world.

My J’s gone jagged and I am falling into (and under) your light.
And your light lifts me ILLUMINATES the dark parts of my head THE PARTS THAT ARE DORMANT and covered when I am alone in my room.
When they heard how big Einstein’s brain was they said HOW CAN I GET MORE BRAIN and when they heard that you only use X percent of your brain they said HOW CAN I USE MORE OF MY BRAIN.
There are kinesthetic conditions.
I used to love the I EARNED THIS feeling.
Going to sleep sore. Eating huge meals.
Spectators watched me inhale the food and I would say,
I HAVE A VERY ACTIVE LIFESTYLE.

The body in movement is hot and alive.

The body in movement
breaks the world open.

I remember that brief time when I would wake up at sunrise and let the chickens out and sprint round and round the block and cook food early in the morning and swim laps and bike around town talking on my phone.

When I sat down I felt like I could write forever.

I wrote about my bicycle. It became part of my body.
I remember bicycling insane distances at ungodly hours of the night,
To Lido Key to squirt my menstrual blood into the ocean
Coasting down the windy bridge
Stopping at the fanciest hotel in Sarasota to smear blood on the walls and sit on their cold bathroom floor.
To be totally out of place amidst the opulence
And write.
I went to the scummy evil dog track
To write.
Sat in random hotel lobbies,
Writing.
Conspicuous.
In a casino,
Writing
(Stealing drinks).
In the airport,
Writing
(With Cindy:
Our play).
At the gay bar,
Writing
(With Matthew:
Our letters).
In the corner at the show,
Writing.
Alone in the crumbling shack on the side of the road,
Writing.
In the tent
Writing:
Dear—
I have discovered the kinesthetic principle of writing
The key to brain expansion
Maybe the jocks already knew?
Maybe I’m just the last to find out?

Sore=soar. Coincidence???

I remember going nuts in my room in the middle of the night and abruptly running to the ocean and seeing a person in the distance and thinking PLEASE TALK TO ME I AM VERY ALONE RIGHT NOW.
I expected to feel a certain way but the environment broke me,
Filled me up.
But on HER terms, not mine.

I run outside because I can’t have it only on my terms because when I am stuck with myself without encounters without brushing up against the world
I go depressed
I go narrow
I go palsy

I haven’t got worlds inside me
I’ve only got worlds t h r o u g h me

I bend.
She bent me up.
I asked for more.
She gave me more.
She said, “I can keep going if you want me to.”
Sometimes I say no even though I always like it when it’s happening.
SOMETIMES I SAY NO.
I say no to the world
To getting out of bed
To reading
To talking to anyone
To loving my friends back.
I say, NOT TODAY
And
I’VE GIVEN UP.
I say no
I say no
No
No
No

No sun
Not even artificial light.

(Let yourself in.)
I can’t. My vision’s gone sleepy.

I think I know what I came to remember
But remembering isn’t always enough.

Maybe it’s time to say,
PULL THE BUTT PLUG OUT OF YOUR MOUTH WE ARE GOING TO LIGHT OUR SHIT ON FIRE
To illuminate this world.
Line up the gassy cows and point their butts to the flames!
My tooth has cracked and I’m feeling everything through an exposed nerve in my mouth.
Maybe it’s time to go outside
With this new sensitivity.
Maybe it’s time
It’s time
It’s time
Let the little fingers lift your sweet hide to the sun YES I once knew how to love for a second I knew and I was there————

I’m afraid of the comedown
The down
Down
Down.

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