February noteling-notethings, from the February ghost-things things-that-i-wrote-things:

i used a pan yesterday for the first time since the pan incident. actually, i used a pot instead, pretending that it’s a pan, but i used the pot for the function of the pan, and just let it have its safety walls. there’s not even much point in explaining what the pan incident was, other than describing it as: Overboil. Overload. Overwhelm. and it was everything to do with me, and nothing to do with the pan or its contents. Too much goes on around here, in here. constant overlap, layers-upon-layers-upon-layers of under-communication, like icy-frozen sheets of solidified meltyness. unacknowledgable, seen-through. i can’t keep up with my own mind as it is, so how can i expect another mind to want to try.
you never know what’s going on for a person, okay? internet-judge as much as you want. you never really know what’s going on for a person. so many internetty-demands these days. expectations of presentations of communications and i would like to be free in the places i am free to be free-me. i don’t write to be looked at. it’s a happening, that happens, i realise.. but you’re invited, and i mean that kindly.

*zoom back to the February here-now this-now* [which is now the not-now, by the time i press the internet-button – and the update from the future is that i have successfully used the pan twice since then…. The pan: actual pan… but it’s still past-land Feb[ruary] whilst the below words crawl out of the shadowswirls that dance from my fingertips, alphabet ballerinas frozen into photographed moment…..]

every week is just… … . ….
and it’s lonely, and lonelier, and lonely.
i was less lonely when i was in a small room on my own for months, than whatever this is.
i’ve experienced optimum interaction, so i know it exists. glimpses of it, like glowing butter. i know it’s magic. i know it’s brightening. i Know it’s possible. i know it’s worth melting into the slippery buttery sea, just to feel the feels to Be, as starry as the quietening that lurks like soft-smile blanket above joined presence.. loneliness wasn’t a choice of mine, even when on-my-own was.
maybe it’s an option. maybe it’s the option. and maybe that’s okay.
maybe it is, and what ‘is’ is okay.
but.. the glowing butter……. *+*+*+*+*+*
they draw chalk-circles from social gaze, and then avoid the edges. i must enter to participate, i must participate to be anything other than other, anything other than self-excluded object. i observe the they-drawn peramiters, the closed-moon perimeters, and become gravel-sand upon dusty knee. it is summer, and the sky is warm – it opens, invites
, smiles, welcomes… and i float upwards, hover, absorb, become light. transcendable. be-able. where are the other otherlings, i wonder, as i drift back down to gravel-ground.

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