My real skin; my real heart
Dec. 27th, 2019 02:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormYou come over.
There are piglets, or baby birds, or butchery to be done: life and death.
I can take a break, put on a smile, go inside the house and chat. That's a visit.
Or you can hold lumber or a struggling baby animal, get blood smeared across your face or on your hem.
When you put your hand out, onto the wood that will be the bones of shelter, onto feathers or fur warm and squirming or dead and waiting, that's touching me. It's interacting with my soul, with my motivating force.
Do this enough and that you're attached to me, your interaction written forever in the external memory of landscape.
That's a partnership.
Of course I can come visit you in the city. I do, after all, live awfully far away. That's a visit.
Unless the city is where you keep your real heart?
There are piglets, or baby birds, or butchery to be done: life and death.
I can take a break, put on a smile, go inside the house and chat. That's a visit.
Or you can hold lumber or a struggling baby animal, get blood smeared across your face or on your hem.
When you put your hand out, onto the wood that will be the bones of shelter, onto feathers or fur warm and squirming or dead and waiting, that's touching me. It's interacting with my soul, with my motivating force.
Do this enough and that you're attached to me, your interaction written forever in the external memory of landscape.
That's a partnership.
Of course I can come visit you in the city. I do, after all, live awfully far away. That's a visit.
Unless the city is where you keep your real heart?
