Sunday, August 21, 2011

i shall tell my love

i put my cup down... endless ladybirds everywhere i look... climbing and motionless stumbling all over each other... not in pain, not laughing, just there, a reality of ladybird life... how easy they make 'being' look... but they are all covered in sweat no... sort of bubbles... like foam but tiny and sticky looking... maybe they are in transformation into something else... flies or bunnies... i don't know... where did i put my cup... i cant stop this endless coughing and spitting up... it doesn't hurt... blood doesn't scare women... but it's the inconvenience of it all... really...where are the ladybirds, or were they chrysalises ,or do i mean fossils?... they are sticky i can't stand to look... but i do things i can't stand to do... mountains of them slowly tumbling over each other like the slot machines at the arcades... where the penny pushes the other pennies if you drop yours at just the right time, i always think that is so like show business... kick em out for your time, your time, you you you, my god it's utterly ugly... these cacoons or mini croissants with goo all over them, and i don't think its creme pattissiere, they are taking up all my room... all over my givenchy... all over my statues... my treasures... i think i have my head in my hands i can feel finger type pressure, it feels like relief to me... it smells of sweet... bubbling sweetness... too it good or not good... i have no judgement... i am lost in it... i am ok i think... i don't know how i am... how wonderful... to lose oneself entirely... i wonder where time is... i want him here with me too... i bet he is feeling me whichever room he is in... he always knows what i am sensing... it's too sweet now, burning rope... no it's not ladybirds or cacoons, i wasn't sure, its bees, oh god.  i don't have my salon hair dryer on to protect me. why cant they be coming out of my mouth. why are they all over my room. so then the sticky is honey! now children, this can be looked at in one of two ways; honey is sweet and natural and a gift from god, or, emma hates it , even the smell and the taste makes her vomit, plus, she hates being sticky and however much you wipe its bottom, there is always a sticky drawer after you remove it. and it invades every other bottom in that drawer. oh no. i need to crawl naked with honey dripping off my hair... i need to be swathed and dipped into honey... but i can't, it will kill me, perhaps things we need to do kill us... oh it's utterly hopeless, even in this state i am analyzing, help me now! analyzing... now, the start of that word is anal... could be called arsehole-yzing....or sphinter-yzing... i need to crawl... my senses tell me to, i need to crawl... be like a baby... the bees... the bees everywhere and i am only protected cos i haven't made up my mind what to do. it's all stopped and joyful puffy marshmallows are flying around my head, thank God, making a big pink and white fur hat... ok... i am going for it... come on emma ... into the swarms... hey you can't sting my statue of mary... she wont be stung... she is perfection... but i will... i am a crawling sinner... a shit, a nothing, a smudge... oh god not one bee sting but worse. the walls are all coming in and my hair is coming out. like meat thru a meat mincer... little worms squished thru into unnaturally smooth shapes and fat buccatini of pink and white ''meat''... thats my hair... bendy hair. no... that is my identity... my beautiful blonde hair... it's all thick and minced i am losing it... there are wigs... you're, i need my own hair... glossy and full, my mad hair... i need to crawl with it all hanging down dripping in... oh, cant do that, where's the honey... i need tea, where is my mug... my body aches... looking at my statue of jesus. if i feel him. it will all be ok. looking. where did time go. i don't know where it is. and there is joy in the very real risk. and the danger. well! i give it to Him. i don't care about hairloss. or being stung to death. or having to be sticky forever or walk over ladybirds or chrysalises. i just want to crawl before Him and show him how nothing i am but His nothing. take my health. my beauty. my gifts, those i love... just have mercy on me and know that i want you to accept take me, and my miserable life, take this girl. in her humility. i can be kicked , split open. slit. bladed. disfigured. cut my fingers off. sew me up.  i can be tortured. but know that i believe. and if i don't get out of this place, where time has no seat... i accept it, and will try to love it. perhaps i am so rejected that i cannot move mountains, though my faith is sure. but i can sing for those that can. i can paint them, and make duck a l'orange for them. i can hold them and mother them. i wish to mother this blank insensitive numb pain. to mother pain. i wish to strip myself to make myself perfect for you. nothing. just an anima. a blank my lord. but i shall tell my love.