A Channeling of Our Rumored Desires

"[H]ers for all I know gone to Black Forests and wolves, mine banging back to a familiar form, that great revenant mystery I still could only hear the shape of, which in spite of our separate lusts and individual cries still continued to drive us deeper into stranger tones, our mutual desire to keep gripping the burn fueled by sound, hers screeching, mine — I didn't hear mine — only hers, probably counter-pointing mine, a high-pitched cry, then a whisper dropping unexpectedly to practically a bark, a grunt, whatever, no sense any more, and suddenly no more curves either, just the straight away, some line crossed, where every fractured sound already spoken finally compacts into one long agonizing word, easily exceeding a hundred letters, even thunder, anticipating the inevitable letting go, when the heat is ultimately too much to bear, threatening to burn, scar, tear it all apart, yet tempting enough to hold onto for even one second more, to extend it all, if we can, as if by getting that much closer to the heat, that much more enveloped, would prove... — which when we did clutch, hold, postpone, did in fact prove too much after all, seconds too much, and impossible to refuse, so blowing all of everything apart, shivers and shakes and deep in her throat a thousand letters crashing in a long unmodulated fall, resonating deep within my cochlea and down the cochlear nerve, a last fit of fury describing in lasting detail the shape of things already come."

I feel like talking, but for the life of me if someone were around generous enough to listen I wouldn't know what to say beyond a long, loud slur of meaningless syllables. I got five hours of sleep last night after landing safely back at Sea-Tac and that's including the help of pills. It's good to be home, but the trip back to Cleveland has seriously fucked with my sense of well-being and added a fresh, heaping helping of unresolved conflicting emotions to the top of what was already a convoluted mess of a psyche. It's going to take a lot of time to work through these things, and there's this pressure, an urgent feeling to decompress it all faster than can be done that's fueling this energetic talkativeness. I sit alone in my room and try to avoid contact with people because I know I'm going to say something crass, tip my hand, and possibly lose my perspective all over again.

Hell, half of what I want to say right now would get me banned for life if I said it inside a Chuck E. Cheese.

The other half might get me committed. I don't know. I need to take some time to digest what I'm thinking and feeling inside.