i been sick. i don't know how to live. i'm blindsided by it. i walk around in a daze, seeing only enough to step slowly, looking mostly down. copper wants me back. my spirit has left my body, leaving memory, raw and unyielding, a bristled fur on my lungs. stopping blogging became a negative space, a compulsion as locomotive as blogging. i missed it though. being sick and alone i've missed my life. and when i'm well it's at least more manageable. being sick and a failure is much more an onus than simple failure. let me be a healthy failure, please spiritus mundi.

out of no order,  the spiritual wilderness looks back, recognizing you.

keep finding yourself even if you can't get the whole. reality is still the realest. 

my frontal lobe on benadryl

on purpose

ruins. some of us last a long time and seem to have always been that way.

we have a mirrored memory.

stopping became as compulsive as going.

pleasure of being merely abstract

spiritual wilderness. and a ball to fetch.

the true outlaws are the governors. 

like a dog most of my memories are without words. i don't know if this is a lack or only a sometimes perceived one. for him nothing is lacking, his memory is alive.

i was going to quit. i did, but i didn't stop you see. it's pointless to go on.