I fall asleep eventually, laying curled up, entangled in my hair. I sleep deeply and I dream very rarely.
“You must regulate your life.”
I read it somewhere back then when I used to open my eyes to watch things. For a while now, I rather keep my eyes closed when I rise.
My eyelids are thinned by the heat so I can see this haze through them. It always comes to my mind that I should pay attention to something.
I would take my supplements to ease the dizziness but I don’t seem to find my mouth. I think I lost it back then, together with my compass. I don’t speak much ever since. I rather listen to my voice beating in the heat, loud and sharp. I’d run after it to find my mouth, but every time I do so,
it comes to my mind, that I didn’t straighten my back for a while. I couldn’t move with all those bone inside me so I pulled out each of my vertebrae.
I prefer crawling around, staying close to the ground, like, I can collect some things with my eyes closed.
I wonder where have all the wetlands gone. It all became a desert of sorts, the enchanting ones where you’re covered in endless hot breeze and there’s no place to hide.
What’s the use of looking back?
I learned to make friends with all the waving images. I don’t know how long I’ve been watching this mirage of thoughts, fata morgana liquids foaming in the horizon. Memory loss, constant cleansing. A hunter hunting itself.
I feel the acidic taste of my fluids, running in my veins and out through my skin. By now, it’s rather a thin layer, a border between this heat and my perception of it. I like it like this though. It gets thinner day by day.
smelling like vinegar honey and wax, caused by the self-fermentation routine. one has to be fermented to keep focused. I care for myself.
Mutation is constant.
It’s all a matter of hunger, growing deep down in the molecular level, when your heart needs immediate energy, raw matter, to keep boiling. Microbes stuck in this glasshouse body, hunting themselves in lack of oxygen. They’re sucking out their supplements from intense emotion when the heat gets high enough.
Fermentation is culturing. Essentially, cultures colonise thought. In fact, it’s desire that carries out fermentation during periods of intense exercise, where oxygen supplies are limited.
Once I’ve learned the term fermentation comes from the Latin verb ‘fervere’…” to boil." I don’t remember where I heard it but I can still recall something of the feeling of being fascinated. Not much though…but I wanted to build something.
Thought is just a trace of emotion that ate itself already. It’s the hot, sour water that pours down my body and flies up high to leave dried out remnants on the ground to collect..micro-particles of self-care that I can play with.
doubts? doubts of what?
doubts of my being. I can’t.
shrink back...curl up, no respect, mess up, regret. – says the sound of million mouths with all these small teeth,
greedy parasite. Please take me up.
Doubt has no content. It’s just a tongue taped inside,
flapping in my throat and I see the fire fading, and each moment shuts wide open, and every ocean’s deep white light is locked inside my mouth.
Short breathing in and out as my spine curls up. Hot wet balls of air dropped deep in my throat with each breath, just to come back up and sigh out fast. I don’t know where I am. I see my tail and as if I was hunting, my veins stretching then
What’s the use of sitting still when I can only hear my breathing, where are all my senses?
Soggy tiles, daily routine on and on, stuck in the search for purity.
and there I realised my vertigo is all there is
and I can’t feel like chasing no more
and I want to stay here for a while.
Contamination is always involved in this process of culturing, I got used to it pretty fast though. It’s natural. Parasites need love too.