i am brushing my teeth then climbing a tree then making a list then nervously flying away- wait, so, i hate flying because, well falling and flailing sometimes follows. that is to say i keep reaching into near distances to lift a curtain behind which i find instances of myself looking back at me holding the same diaphanous fabric delicately beholding the same stage and audience ironically. its more than curiosity that keeps me pulling at threads of reality. its always the last time, near the last line, where i accept, ‘okay fine’ that all i am sits here in this room dreaming wandering avoiding the gloom and escaping tasks that are launching me, out of me just to see if i should be doing anything other than brushing my teeth.
Leave a Reply