I have never been good at explaining myself, or explaining you and me. Time does not exist for me, it is so irrelevant I could laugh and I do. I think you have to be truly out there to laugh at time. It all feels like crossing a bridge that is over a creek, except there are several bridges and several creeks. You can’t build a boat because the bodies of water are too short. And so we ramble throughout this one instance. I put a number on it because it appears it is not a unique idea, just a unique experience. Dumb me would say there is a lesson to be learned. Beyond being dumb is the ability to smile, catapulted forward without a willingness to build some kind of contraption that will make me more aerodynamic, as efficiency is not our super power. To build a fire and to sit at it with you is the thing I think I can work on to be best at. But I can’t sit still, I cannot, I must at least pace while I talk and pace while I think and pace while I walk for this time has made me put so much time in a fucking chair. Should I be grateful for the chair, should I be humbled by Dr. Chair who invented the chair so long ago that people thought it was an antigravity machine or some kind of witchcraft that just ended with sitting rather than gaining a soul. Soulful promise I pledge to thee, hear me now: 

Making sure, making time, making lips out of nothing else but skin. Skin me and skin you, show me soulful tidings and shameful heartaches that can’t be interpreted at all, not through body language and mouthy language, not through tuna salad sandwiches or chili dogs. Hamstring, hamstrung, strung out to dry, strung out. No matter who you believe in, believe that I won’t follow a path that has nothing to do with dark meat. I eat dark meat, if only to avoid stereotypes. 

‍