Desire for Mania
My eyes were wide, my mouth was wider and squeaking erratic frenzied vowels. My brains were thrown up living room walls, where they dripped down towards the skirting boards. I wasn't distressed just fleetingly home alone, eating cereal and picking shit up.
Before too long, the lights went off again and a self was cobbled back together. As tasks of necessity became pasts of necessity, the rock and hard place metaphor came to mind. I considered it altogether ill-fitting, because if my hard place was a post-work engagement, that would make work my rock. I don't think so.
Faces in scenery and memories can be pierced by eye contact that consumes insecurity's otherness. I tell myself I'm not the only one who can make a smile, until I no longer need to. Lurking are reflexes to laugh and needs to scream. I want my composed fraught and contradictions spewed all over everyone. Join me in a cultural space, see me in a head place, find me in my dreams