Limbo

And I find myself with 20 minutes until class time not knowing what to do, what to write. I never write in the same notebook twice. Can you let me speak? And can you reply? I don’t what you want from me, I can’t make juice, I don’t make conversation. I’m systematically useless. Want to have some? I think I may have a few standards. I’ve not been sexual lately, that switch has been flipped down I want you to help me. You, who? I don’t know you, the person I’ve stopped looking for. When I look you disappear. When I don’t there you are. And somehow I don’t understand how the universe works but somehow inside my head it is marvellous. It works in wonderful ways, bringing people together tragically, making meetings randomly. I’ve decided it’s chaos and continuous change. Any attempt to make it clean cut and orderly is stupid... make the earth untilted and you’ve eliminated the human race, good job. I’ve started posing nude, bearing all, caring none and all of a sudden I am much happier. Somehow being in constant flux with a few changing elements of consistency, it all makes sense. Sense – why should we try and make sand castles out of it when its only grains in the wind, broken down, undefined, no, a point.

And people think I am insane and that makes me happy. To be eccentric to not be an ordered one is to be one with the universe. All I ask is for returned phone calls and correspondence and love. Without them, lots of angst, crumbling facade of my body, uncontrollable bits of flesh writing on the ground, wounded. It’s just a feeling- can’t stop the feeling. It happens, without ever wanting it, without looking for you, there you are.