v u l v a l i c i o u s
My brain is bruised and my feet are heavy, but my heart says boom boom boom
Do you fall down a lot? I've been writing too much lately, but not enough. Words spill out of my head at inopportune moments, and I write them down in the back of my notebook like nobody's watching.
Sometimes they end up here in some form that I barely recognize until reading later. Always the same theme, eyes and hair and mouths and little things. A thousand little things, bundled up into one mass of larger things.
I often recall the image of the ball of hair from Sula, and every time it comes into my brain I think I understand it more. I want to run back to the class I took four--was it five?--years ago and spill them out, haphazard, to see what people think. Then I wonder how much of what I think has been manufactured, has been turned out by the great machine of thought whose wheels only crank crank crank, not even stopping for hair tangled in the gears.
I imagine my brain being crushed by the gears as my head starts hurting from thinking-waking-living.
I'll need sustenance today, and I will find it in music. I told her last night that she needed the music as much as I did, and she laughed at me. She'll know when she gets it, how important it is. She'll know like I know.
I don't want to think today.