peanut_butter ovenbird The only dream I drag to light is about peanut butter. Such a stupid thing to dream. There I am with a brand new jar of Adams Natural Creamy, trying to stir in the separated oil with the handle of a spatula. The oil slops over the edge of the jar. It keeps rising from the bottom no matter how much I mix and fold. It will NOT be incorporated. It insists upon itself–its slick, liquid reality. But even this ridiculous fragment presents its questions: What is rising up, asking for autonomy? What is refusing to conform? What does it mean when integration becomes impossible? How many hours of your life have you lost to stirring new jars of peanut butter? Why are you so tired? 261005 ... raze for the longest time i would only eat the crunchy stuff. and it had to be a specific brand. the cheapest of the lot. because that was what i liked best. everything else was too dry. i can still see the jar if i squint hard enough, with its red lid. now i can only eat creamy peanut butter with a bear tattooed on the belly of its bin. i wonder what that says about me. maybe, in spite of how broken i am, i want to believe there are still soft things in this life that won't cut me open if i entrust them to the tender kennel of my mouth. 261006 what's it to you? who go blather from