purge belly fire When will the waters of my heart be still, When shall I know it's calm deliverance; What truth can be found in the games that engage me, This remembrance lends sorrow in which I do dwell; I long for the sweet smell of assuredness, I have tasted temptation left bitter on my tongue; I wait for the whisper that lacks hesitation, I will bury my guilt among my defences; In the damp of the spring and the ice of the winter, I have long forgotten the thrill of this hunt, But come summer and, shortly, the decay of autumn, I will cleanse my desire to relive the former; The answers will find me when at last I stop searching, The shadows that haunt me will haunt me no more; At last you will find me, my fears will fall silent, And my heart will swell with the beauty of your mouth; Talk to me gently for I know only boldness, Bear down on my prudence and dare prove me wrong; Teach me your manner, never leave me wanting, For the pitch of your keening will sustain my resources; I will bathe in the dreams that the darkness weaves nightly, And ignore the afflictions that rage in deceit; I am sharp for the whispers that speak in my language, For I have purged the apathy that threatens my love. 020729 ... belly fire The Nirvana shirt...the one from that trip with Auntie to the West Edmonton Mall...it stays. 070130 ... cocoon Purging my thoughts [my brain?]. On Blather, in my [written] journal. Not really on my online journal. [People read that. Its scary.] Will I ever run out of [self indulgent] things to say? Not anytime soon. [And certainly not when I'm in the middle of exam stress. Making me realise things about myself I never really thought about.] 070401 ... tender_square take all the plastic and paper dishes and cutlery down from the top shelf to add to the supplies at work on monday; he’s not going to be hosting parties where he’ll need them. the silicone hard-boiled egg accessory and wire basket for insta-pot you guys never opened from three years ago (a christmas gift) goes into the donate pile. same for the holiday hand towels you never use. but be sure to bring the yellow striped ones you bought for the ohio house with you; you’ll need them to brighten up your new life. oh, and take the crochet facecloths your first mother-in-law made, the ones you’ve never been able to bring yourself to dirty (though you certainly did a good job of sullying your reputation with her when you left her son). dump the old, half-used rice bags that expired last year, save the elastics that bind them; they won’t be tossed at blushing brides. spill the guts of sesame and truffle oils from skinny glass jars that haven’t been used. toss the bags of frozen potatoes (shredded hashbrowns and waffle fries) that probably have freezer burn because you can’t remember when you bought them. why do you buy two giant boxes of cheerios that are stale and mostly uneaten? you don’t need your neti pot anymore since you’re paranoid about a parasite leeching on your brain; recycle it. all these medications are expired—nasal decongestant pills, colourful cold and flu sinus pills. pour the cough suppressant down the hacking drain, even though you want to swig what’s left to blot this part of your life out. in the middle of it all, he’ll ask if you’ve booked time off work for boston in november. you swear you will on monday. meanwhile, your coworkers are secretly saving boxes for you in the storage room. last night, he inhaled your perfumed hair before bed; you spritzed strands to cover the bonfire smoke you were too lazy to wash out. today, you pour out the few remaining drops left; you don’t want him to remember. 220827 what's it to you? who go blather from