the missed spaces, the missed places, the missed times, the missed rhymes, the missed persons I could have been or will be, the fear that restricts me, the choices that elate me, the food that prolongs, the life that kills and opens and winds up and scares and tears and screws, inspires and heightens and pitches and rolls and drowns and crowns and takes hold of and molds and breaks and pours into and empties and burns.

and here we steal away together

recorded 12-15.12.17

Feeling empty-hollow, that I can not reach a part of me, vulnerable enough that I have burned out the center, the very hope, the belief that a home exists beyond this skin. And simultaneously distrustful-hateful of what is contained in this skin, in this mind.


What if this body

This home this safety this trust

Is a wilting bloom


It is, and the poison of life is that we constantly forget-ignore-fight against our absolute impermanence. We toil away at building solid structures, amassing solid objects, attempting to trick ourselves into security through materialism. From this angle of perception I have just swung to, the mind and body seem the most stable, the most permanent, the most worthy of trust. And as I swing again, mood and mind falling with the wave, into the valley of the wave, I am awestruck at how little i can trust.


The seesaw of self

Stability slips away

Clouds of confidence

recorded 21.12.17

recorded 9-12.12.17