If indeed it is not heart but stars that beat in my body, as MTC Cronin suggests, fallen there by not falling then there is no hope.
It is another day on the Light Continent, a Sydney day where the light is clear and white. There is no atmospheric interference. There is no reason why the sea cannot rise beyond the horizon and come back at us as air. Eternal blue in the whitewash of light but I have drawn the curtains, I have hauled up the heavy wool doona, I have covered my head and laid bare my feet. I am flattened and once again typing and typing ringed by personal smoke and clouded futures.
I cannot explain my fear of this clear light. It is a wide land that blurs into endless ocean, this continent is the white void. Wherever I tread points straight into infinity and I have forgotten my shoes. Every edge here is the edge of the world. This clear light frightens me. I want to be in a yellow bubble of low English light or captured in some damned American west coast smog. I want a tupperware bounded existence with no hanging rocks.
This day without purpose has come as no surprise. I was determined to push back the exhaustion that has hung blankets on my corners for the past month. I was going to find a wide clear carpeted space to stretch out and remember ways beyond survival but I had forgotten the speed of ghosts in clear light. It is not heart that beats in my body but stars and they are white hot imploding failures of creation. It is impossible to hold up imaginings in this white void continent of only light. I will rattle in my cage until I drop. I will vomit emptiness and craving while you walk past me and I am being replaced and replaced and replaced by others with a monkey grip on love.
It is another day on the Light Continent, a Sydney day where the light is clear and white. There is no atmospheric interference. There is no reason why the sea cannot rise beyond the horizon and come back at us as air. Eternal blue in the whitewash of light but I have drawn the curtains, I have hauled up the heavy wool doona, I have covered my head and laid bare my feet. I am flattened and once again typing and typing ringed by personal smoke and clouded futures.
I cannot explain my fear of this clear light. It is a wide land that blurs into endless ocean, this continent is the white void. Wherever I tread points straight into infinity and I have forgotten my shoes. Every edge here is the edge of the world. This clear light frightens me. I want to be in a yellow bubble of low English light or captured in some damned American west coast smog. I want a tupperware bounded existence with no hanging rocks.
This day without purpose has come as no surprise. I was determined to push back the exhaustion that has hung blankets on my corners for the past month. I was going to find a wide clear carpeted space to stretch out and remember ways beyond survival but I had forgotten the speed of ghosts in clear light. It is not heart that beats in my body but stars and they are white hot imploding failures of creation. It is impossible to hold up imaginings in this white void continent of only light. I will rattle in my cage until I drop. I will vomit emptiness and craving while you walk past me and I am being replaced and replaced and replaced by others with a monkey grip on love.
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