notes

1. quick quick, before i fall asleep, let's just get this all over and done with, i'm zoning out already, god i'm tired
   
2. and the cat, damned cat; i really have to stop going over there, i always leave an hour later panting for breath and unable to see straight and i drive home with the windows down gasping and gasping and watery eyes barely open
3. on the mud we danced. i was exhausted, it had been a long day, but stepping into the crowd, some russia-doll-hidden, younger, brighter-redder-eyed me woke. i dance with my eyes closed, a habit from my methamphetamine days when with eyes open my mind would rush to analyze.think.scrutinize.ponder.reassess.judge.conceptualize, and so i found, eyes closed, i was lost in a cocoon no one could penetrate. a strange sensation of movement outside yourself that you can sense but not see, your own movements that release energy.worry.stress.angst.fear without your having to see them, or be embarrassed for them- the catharsis from yourself, and of course, the movement, that in the dark (and soo loud, soo loud, louder please, yes, louder still, still louder, i don't want to feel my heart beat for a while) manages to illuminate all those parts of your body that hidden and jammed-in cannot usually hear. covered in sweat and up to knees in mud, and lost and found and trampled and 
4. Destroy Everything You Touch (, today, destroy me, this way,) 
   and as the vocoders wore off, i opened my eyes and thought, no no no no no no, i'm not ready, not back yet, no no no no, and Richard said: it's ok q. at least now you remember who you are. we'll be back soon. (that was two days ago) (i'm scratchy under my neck and i have the music in my car on too loud, trying to regain that sense of music as a physical entity that vibrates through my body - and animates me, and loosens me up, and reminds me i'm 25 and not (as commonly believed) 55. 
   (the title of the blog post that was to deal with this thoroughly was to be called: the man like... or; how q managed orgasm and regained his youth. (needless to say, fatigue and lack of time have prevented me from writing it)
5. i have alot of good writing ideas. but when i have them i don't have time to notate them. later (like now) i'm too tired. (quick quick quick, your eyes are getting scratchier by the second)
6. this damed house won't build itself. my hands are sore, and  i am constantly fingering the bruises on my palms. the slices at my fingertips are the worst. they're almost invisible but they sting hardest. there is only sawdust and plaster in the air to breathe. i am turning slowly into a masonry-man.  when it happens, someone remember to plant a tree besides me ok?
7. finally, i can recall what a life you're happy to be living looks like.
   (now i'm dead-anxious to start constructing it)