there are things i'd like to write about that are better kept quiet until i'm sure of the outcome.
other things i can feel, but have few or no words to express.
i'll try to touch on what i can, 'cause i have to get something out...
i feel another project coming on--that, or something calling out to be finished. i had a promising story/novel come to me a few years ago that i haven't been able to develop into any kind of coherent whole. it pokes me every now and then, i scribble whatever comes, then i leave it until the next time. not exactly a winning strategy.
the love project is...stalled. that was easier to work from a place of angst and a need to organize unrequited emotion. but, as he's wont to do, the subject of the piece has reared his head. now there's a new set of sentiments to deal with.
i recently began to reread ...said the shotgun to the head. i may have mentioned before that i enjoy saul williams because he's the only male poet i've read (to date) who seems to be trying to understand the divine feminine on a deep level. he also seems like the kind of man i'd probably fall head over heels for, but that's beside the point.
something in his words hits me on levels i didn't know anyone knew i had. he has a way of stirring the parts of me i've attempted to subdue in the name of normalcy. i realize that that is probably due more to his mediumship than the beauty of his poetry. i sense that he is often a vessel, same as i am.
i'd like to ask him how he learned to surrender...
there's also a lingering sense of need for...a spark. some sense of purpose, a goal, something. it seems that whenever i gain a new understanding or realization it just leaves me lusting after something else.
and now, instead of the depression it caused a few weeks ago, it's starting to feel like an itch. irritating and almost intangible. there's also a sprinkling of rage i like to call hungry baby syndrome, i.e., you scream until you're fed.
welcome to my mess.
y'all mind the retrograde, now.