greenstorm | Form Without Content

It's morning. I slept a split night last night -- 8:30-10:30pm, then 2-8am. It seems to have worked very well for me. I'm serene, rested, with a little tiny edge of tired left. I feel entirely grounded, complete unto myself, a whole thing wrapped around in warm skin and chilly basement air.

I have no content for this post. There's nothing to share here, but I like the act of writing. I could say to you: Tillie and I have decided that there will, indeed, be girls at Juggler's party. I could say to you: I like the snow when it lies thickly. I could say to you: I updated my interests list in lj, and it makes a lovely poetry to read the things I like simply, in words.

None of those things would be the point of this.

My mornings have been oddly nonexistent of late. I wake late and rush off. I wake early and struggle, a little, to sleep. Now it's morning again and I'm here inhabiting it, inhabiting that cool air and filtered grey light rising through the windows in the morning silence. Times like this are made for little quiet intimacies, shared cups of tea and silverware clinking, hushed conversations and the lingering warmth of a shared bed stored in one's core. They're made for listening to the cars pass slowly, for wriggling toes to keep them from becoming too cold and perhaps even tucking them under flesh.

This is what I should be doing now, perhaps. The knowledge of it is enough, right now-- I don't need to act with such a clear sense of the fitness of things. I would like to act upon it, soon. I remember breakfasts of pancakes with you, CrazyChris, that felt right in this time.

Last night I lost my skin. I was lying there in bed and it came off and I fell out into the world around me, still a thing, still Greenstorm, but without any distinction between my edges and the other things around me-- Juggler, the bed, the sheets, the air, the book, the house, the city full of people, the world. I couldn't find my edges, I couldn't define my skin. I lay there quietly until I slept. In a previous time I would have cried because this is the opposite of loneliness, and I have been so lonely in my life. Now it wasn't sharp, as a contrast; it was merely what it was, and what I was.

I remember lying with Kynnin sometimes, especially after sex, and looking down at our bodies, and not being sure which pieces were whose, not being able to physically sense a distinction between us. It was wonderful, at the time. Who am I now, to feel this with the entire world? My boy already loses his fingers when we fold our hands together. His soul treads close on mine, I swear to it.

Sometimes I can feel the echo of the end of the world on the skin across my shoulders. It comes closer, with a final ringing triumphant sense of completion.

I could never explain that to you, but here's a secret: almost always, I use words not because they make sense, but because they feel right and correct to use.

Good morning, guys. Have a good one.