And I am claustrophobic, scratching at the walls, trying to get in/out because I'm not sure what the limits are, what is bound/emcompassed by what, an endless turning, inside and out, infinitely swallowing itself, because there is no direction, no objectivity to refer to. I need the escape/abandon of the body, because I feel like I can't get out. I want to forget, I want the absence of memory which is birth, I want out, out, out! But birth into another sphere, because I am so terribly sick of this one. There is so much inertia/habit in living, and while I want to control that, I want to be spat out into that darkness, into that unknown, I want to be so lost as well.

Where is your mouth when I need it? Where is that black hole to fall into? Where is that absolution?

I search for a location, for a thing outside myself to reflect it, to capture it. I need myself manifested in something, I need it in sight, in taste, in sound, in touch. I want to un-gag myself with it, pull it out of my mouth like an umbilical cord, leading back to nascence, to the embryo that dangles in my throat like a scrotum, underneath all my words. It is at rest/in motion there, sub-demon and part-god, blooming, transforming into all possible things.