There is a rash or reaction crawling across my chest and neck. I suspect it is the scented lotion carefully massaged into my skin last night by Zissou but what is this ticking of the clock. I had thought that at last I was inhabiting myself. I had thought I had kicked some great heavy clunking shoe hindering my steps but now here I sit in need of a showering wondering at the ticking of all clocks. Last night I said to Zissou "I like you" in sync with the painting of those same words across my mind. Today I do not wish to like that man. It is a small undesperate liking. It is not a raging irrational beast. It was a warm current.
I do not wish to like him because it is revealing new fears. It is one thing to think that he seems a good man and to enjoy his company but it is another to think I like this person. What a cold hard trap it could lead into. I wish to float. I wish to be as independent as possible. There is no immediate danger, I am not fighting kite strings of wild emotion.
Revision and rememberance cast different shadows than the moment itself. When the shadows shift I wonder that it was initially invisible. What a strong pulsing light aimed at my chest. There was a pause with my dress pulled up over my face, arms raised in unusual obedience. This is when the jack rabbit ragged edged scar over my heart held centre stage. I imagine, because it is invisible to me, a palm wide egg white jagged thing radiating thick raised arms out to red edges. It is clear that it came from within, that depth charge. A raging exploded blown out chest. Since the dying months of 29 I have been stitching and restitching starfish, ammunition, alphabets, wine, heat, flowers and glass into the red cavity. Shredded flaps of flesh closed neatly over it each time.
The dying days of 30 concealed the whole contraption and any person could step up pushing with their hands and stethoscopes. There was nothing there but smooth flesh, sunburn and heartbeats. Zissou in his clam foreign way brought laser beams and ultra sounds with flood lights and the newest constant unwinking strobe. It cast cold light and there, there the contraption revealed itself. What a fraud I am with my wine, heat, glass, starfish, ammunition, alphabet imitation of a heart. It spits out ticker tape lost fortunes. Do not proceed with this unraveling and fold now back into yourself. Dress in sheets of metal and hold up your bulletproof parts.
And what of my merged fractal self so much better than at the dawn of 30. I am upright and holding out my left palm I see the miniatures of the good in my life carefully painted and standing on their own but in my right palm a small figure of self holding out ridiculous empty arms.
I do not wish to like him because it is revealing new fears. It is one thing to think that he seems a good man and to enjoy his company but it is another to think I like this person. What a cold hard trap it could lead into. I wish to float. I wish to be as independent as possible. There is no immediate danger, I am not fighting kite strings of wild emotion.
Revision and rememberance cast different shadows than the moment itself. When the shadows shift I wonder that it was initially invisible. What a strong pulsing light aimed at my chest. There was a pause with my dress pulled up over my face, arms raised in unusual obedience. This is when the jack rabbit ragged edged scar over my heart held centre stage. I imagine, because it is invisible to me, a palm wide egg white jagged thing radiating thick raised arms out to red edges. It is clear that it came from within, that depth charge. A raging exploded blown out chest. Since the dying months of 29 I have been stitching and restitching starfish, ammunition, alphabets, wine, heat, flowers and glass into the red cavity. Shredded flaps of flesh closed neatly over it each time.
The dying days of 30 concealed the whole contraption and any person could step up pushing with their hands and stethoscopes. There was nothing there but smooth flesh, sunburn and heartbeats. Zissou in his clam foreign way brought laser beams and ultra sounds with flood lights and the newest constant unwinking strobe. It cast cold light and there, there the contraption revealed itself. What a fraud I am with my wine, heat, glass, starfish, ammunition, alphabet imitation of a heart. It spits out ticker tape lost fortunes. Do not proceed with this unraveling and fold now back into yourself. Dress in sheets of metal and hold up your bulletproof parts.
And what of my merged fractal self so much better than at the dawn of 30. I am upright and holding out my left palm I see the miniatures of the good in my life carefully painted and standing on their own but in my right palm a small figure of self holding out ridiculous empty arms.
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