misstree it all matters,
every drop in the cup,
bitter or sweet,
every step, feet speaking
speaking speaking speaking
and what the words mean
isn't as important as
the speaking, isn't as important as
knowing that there is still communication between
flesh and soul, that mind still sparks
and grasps and finds that there is
Something past this vehicle, that it can
reach out and grip something
Outside. the words don't matter,
the worlds don't matter, they are there,
they are what i rub up against
to find my outline, they are what i
pound my fist against to release,
they are what define me as Alive,
no matter the words, no matter the
sensation, the input, the babble,
as long as soundtrack runs, my
movie is playing.
. . 041026
(z) the world consists
swarming me it grows
and disappears
as it recedes

winged things
sail over in parabolic nearness
the ground presses at feet
humped under
curve gliding to nothing beyond

and i feel air pressed on me
movements beyond felt dimly
flapping things in distance

cotton fiber surround
murmured ambient universe
i am alive

(from: sensorium)
misstree "tain't no sin
to take off your skin
and dance around in your bones..."

i am fascinated by meat. it is somewhere between the me and the notme, an interface point i can't (yet) exit from.

it's the yet, i think, that draws me. iut's a rabbit-hole i'm digging deeper into, maddened by the scent. i've been knocked out of my skin, on rare and intense occasions. so i know it's possible. and each time, i would try to stave off the panicked return, the scrabbling that didn't always catch right away. but, while i had access to such state, i was getting better...

but that's just one aspect of it. my meat and i are wary neighbors, sometimes. that's the root of why i crave sensation; because it makes meat talk and brain shudder.

i am not apart from my meat, i am also my meat, but too too often, it is quiet and unnoticed. i want it to roar.
misstree need itches under my skin 060526
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