Why is it so hard to get up in the morning? My head feels like sludge poured through concrete. The beehive of my identity is scattered and listless. All its directions are confused. The hive can't reorganize. I write this with one eye fluttering open/closed and aside from the pencil my body is entirely asleep. Covered doesn't mean covered. Do historians stay home from funerals? The feature of swimming - I'm not ready for it. Concept of R____ the feature can be cut in half to focus on the swimming. The bee cloud is gathering. Slowly, the hum. OK, alarm rings. The bees, rather than gathering on their own, are gassed, frozen, and fall into wooden slots made by someone else. Oh if they could drift, the shapes they might make. Unobservable. A cold shower this morning? Throttling to cold at the end. The life where all can be discovered, all is discovery. Slow discovery or headlong crashing through underbrush and stumbling into elegant dining rooms. like bulls in china.
bulls into china.
fez-wearing peach fuzz tassle thrown to the left hookah-bearing never swearing barely caring.