"He cites as an example the unexpected meeting of two acquaintances.  In one brief second before the bland mask of politeness shields the face, and unedited response to the other person flickers over the features.  That, to English, is a moment of truth.  Similar moments exist in nature: times of heightened reality seen and felt but quickly forgotten unless held captive and made tangible in a work of art. "

peoples' lives breathe through. i like to sit and think on long car rides, about them, about myself.  in that state i feel unreal/real, my mind rising and falling like the sea.  yet in the end i still dont fully understand.  if i treated other people with the same vicious, two-faced nature i treat myself...

maybe ill just paint creatures that are ghosts like me
i promised myself once i would make dreams for people but i dont know
i dont know anymore
i want to do more; i want to change.

hold it in i do not care if you cannot breathe i do not care if you die from it

After the Flood, We

We must be the only ones

left, in the mist that has risen

everywhere as well

as in these woods

I walk across the bridge

towards the safety of high ground

(the tops of trees are like islands)

gathering the sunken

bones of drowned mothers

(hard and round in my hands)

while the white mist washes

around my legs like water;

fish must be swimming

down in the forest beneath us,

like birds, from tree to tree

and a mile away

the city, wide and silent,

is lying lost, far undersea.

You saunter beside me, talking

of the beauty of the morning,

not even knowing

that there has been a flood,

tossing small pebbles

at random over your shoulder

into the deep thick air,

not hearing the first stumbling

footsteps of the almost-born

coming (slowly) behind us,

not seeing

the almost-human

brutal faces forming

(slowly)

out of stone.

by Margaret Atwood

friday the 13th is a day for witches

i ought to get out tonight and get lost

disaster
i say nothing but
you hear it all

The world holds us dimly.

sometimes i want to scream "i am mine i am enough i am whole" but the fact is im not i am reminded of this by all the things i hold close that do not belong to me at all.  i cling to things i clutch them desperately running holding them to my chest running and fighting everything around me but it seems most often that it is not enough.  i do not belong to myself i belong to everyone and everything else.  i feel sub human i feel inferior.  i am inferior.