"my soul is spiralling in frozen fractals all around"
sorry im obsessed with frozen's let it go for some reason haha
some mornings you wake up, your head spinning with poems of perilous clarity. that's exactly what it is. you see life in all it's brilliance and its dank overgrowths, exactly as it is. perfect in its imperfection. you have x-ray vision through the darkness & the contrast. swallowing the lumps in your throat like barium enema, you don't know how to follow-through, with anything. or perhaps, in another universe, in some other time & space, you don't know how to read the results of the follow-through.
you know that these are first world problems, no more, no less. that even though you can't read the stars any more than you could many moons ago, its because you don't sleep with them over your head. that you have the climate-control at your fingertips, even if it means you blow hot and cold. that waking up wondering what you are to do with this life, every day, without fail, means someone is giving you a choice. & you don't know why you deserve all this or still how to move from here. you know that no matter what thoughts are breezing through your head transiently like a crystal-blue beach wind, tomorrow will probably come, and the next day, and life moves on.
but even so, these thoughts existed. your loves, however imperfect, your hunches, your hedgehogs, aren't part of a science-fiction novel; they are more than just pixels in a screen or gigabytes or mobile phone data flying invisibly through the skies. everything exists, unless you've been living in a matrix.
this life, is so beautiful & yet spiralling. the challenge is how to keep it in these perfect spirals, going round & round & ending up at the same place; following the rules of physics & gravity
one day's gravity that sent me to you; i never expected such a thing to occur. and the next day's that spirals the world that momentarily went out of shape, into the perfect normality & opacity of normal humdrum daily life. kinda like the secret life of walter mitty
the contrast between the dark tunnel & the barium; it can be reduced by hot air. it can be diverted, like attention, and forgotten always
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Every anxious thought that steals my breath It's a heavy weight upon my chest As I lie awake and wonder what the future will hold Help ...