origin story

if you disentangle them
from the sweetest
songs

the roughest elements

you can fashion your
origin story from
there

and uncover who you
were

      and have
become

distribute yourself. aromatic of the locale. unalterable you.

Distribute yourself. If you find yourself, once you have found yourself, distribute yourself to the world -- it's gonna be a long and heartbreaking journey cause if you choose to live to really live you must be cracked to enjoy the taste, your heart must also be broken before it's any good. A coffee bean in the roasting process gets hot and expands and turns from green to toasty brown to oily black, and cracks twice before it turns its beautiful blood out and down its sides, aromatic of the distinctive locale, and then ready for mutilations into fine grain through which boiling water shall bloom... and then the world wakes up on it. You, too, shall bloom for us if you let us in, the world scalding you with its heat and fury, once your goodness is known and worn on your face and in your creations, the world will beat down the boulevard to you to open our eyes, please, distribute yourself to us, across all the seas in every port known, let us harbor you and sink your ship to the bottom, then pull you up with the Roman artifacts for a deeper inspection, blow you up so we can feel your remnant blast penetrate our collective body, yes, distribute yourself evenly across our marrow in the zigzags of Paris and NYC, let our rain fall hot through your grain, when we rip you off the walls of our museums so our eyes can be pleasantly deceived, wanting what you have so bad our wanting precludes our having, and then all around you let us become a shield for the loving code we have cracked, melting in global neural plasticity, on our knees woken up and sacrificing ourselves deliberately to experience the wonder, the inextricable merging, then the slack before the pickup, coal shovelled into the furnace, ropes tied round, not anymore you than we were before as we found, now the tugboat of your movement is pulling our giant half-submerged whale of acculturation, lifting us from the mothball fleet, releasing us into the open sea where finally we shall confront the elements again like a child runaway, stripped of all we have known, hyperventilating on our feet, wide eyes woken, devastated thanks to you, stone cold you, drowning, turning deeper colors, fluttering in the zigzags, breaking into stride... beside the unalterable you.

Journal # 03.03.15

Life tends to surprise with its falling apart. The clothes I was dressed in, down the lengths of my arms to the cuffs, down my legs to the ankles, holding tight to my heart now  fall off me. I am exposed again. A wise man once told me the 'oil' of life is relationship. My oil got heated and then burned, turned black again. + + +  I wouldn't have believed you if you told me how difficult it is to make and keep true friends. I think I will never stop trying. But I cannot hold our friendship over your head. There is no leverage. Only family has any leverage, in the end. Only blood. I am gonna do whatever I want, and you will do the same. + + + The cost of the freedom looks like the many paths of gunpowder shot out of a canister, touched to the flame for a great detonation. Lifestyle is explosive. When you realize you have a chance and you go for it, you're a bat out of hell. Relocations. Rearrangements. Rebirths. Repatterning. By the end of your course across the sky, you may find your oil is burned. + + + I still have my freedom and I am happy this way. But to drift the way I have, East to West over time, across the States, has had a great cost. I have suffered losses of fragments of myself burned and fallen off, a real moulting of snakeskin or plumage or traits of personality. + + + Those bygone lovers and friends, every one of them so critical in my becoming who I am, are mostly memories, and the loss of them, with or without a proper adieu, hurt so bad as the oil, gone black, and paper trails of self like colored confetti tumbling in the wake of us, flipping over and over and spreading out with the sun rays across the infinite sea, logged by water at the surface... then falling, falling deep down into the dark and maybe never to be retrieved.