raw fallen this is raw......this is the primal shudder.....shudder.....raw....bare....bleeding....is this a certain numbness?....numb?...no....pure...aching....reaching.....raw.....tingle....quiver...burn....burn.....prickle...drag the wounds across the rusty nails.....twist....twist....feral....and we will all return to the true state.....true....raw....go back to the woods....dance.....bare foot in the fire..... bare foot in the lake.....touch the skin....touch the spirit.....the old spirits ....raw....show me...raw 010125 ... birdmad meat in the unforgiving jaws of the hunters all eyes and teeth in the night shimmering in the firelight beneath the moon looming large in the night sky when her orbit was closer (they say one day she'll slip away and we'll need to tow an asteroid out of the belt and bind her orbit to keep her) 010126 ... silentbob cold absense without new primal carnal hunger passion beefcake! 010128 ... birdmad power 010128 ... splinken i burnt my tongue on a cup of coffee, then ate an orange soon after. 010618 ... leif Is this where we end? 180116 ... tender_square you white-knuckle through days for so long that you trick yourself into believing you’ve mastered your emotions. when the nurse asks after your medications, any health changes, how your mood has been, you sway and shake like a house of cards. “it’s hard right now,” you say, tears leaking, and she passes you a box of tissues. you didn’t realize how close this pain was to the surface until the nick made you howl. “it’s hard for a lot of people,” she responds, in a tone both comforting and patronizing. the efforts to valve your stream of tears becomes futile. you compose yourself as she leaves, study your face in the mirror for signs of distress before the doctor enters. she greets you. you give a weak smile and say you’re okay. “changes in mood?” and the charade repeats. she’s passing you tissues, and you’re getting a nosebleed beneath your mask because of the stress. “are you afraid of hurting yourself?” “no,” you assure. “if you would like medication, we can get you that,” she offers. “it’s circumstantial,” you clarify, and give the requisite list: your marital separation, the limbo of cross-border living, your father’s illness, leaving your job and looking for work. she tells you it’s a lot to be handling at once. you don’t know when you’ll ever have a handle on it. her suggestion of chemical intervention makes you feel like you’re failing to pull yourself out from the rubble of all those fallen suits and numbers. 221123 what's it to you? who go blather from