retreat.

y'ever dive so deep into yourself that you're sure
you'll lose all your breath before you make it up to the surface again?
damn.
that's a hard style.
but,
that's real life.
deeper and darker depths,
down into the core of yourself,
so dense it goes beyond gravity and into event horizon black hole business.
like,
the normally molten core is so misshapen from the crush of introspection
and introversion that the hot magma of your own reactionary furnace
is frostbiting to the touch.
freezerburn, neighbors.
damn. that's cold hearted to the extreme ends of the spectrum.
whoever the experts are-
they say hell isn't all fire and brimstone,
it's actually composed of mostly ice and shadows.
...and i s'pose, upon consideration, that that IS worse.
i mean,
fire consumes, and that's active participation-
by which i mean to say,
fire is F*ing expert.
yeah.
but ice?
ew.
ice is a whole other 'nother matter entirely.
ice preserves.
...and that means everything is just gonna stay the same.
(i don't think hell has a self-cleaning defrost mode)
no light and no heat makes for no life.
bummer.
*
sometimes, friends,
it takes a lot to pull out of a swansong swandive into those frigid fathoms.
what's more,
it takes twice as much hottness to melt the rime that hardens onto those hard styles
just from getting close to that threshold.
jeez.
-
i think the steady diet of doo-doo butter that these past few weeks has served,
and the absence of my daughters throughout the summer,
and my predispositions and my prejudices,
all mixed together,
are making the days take too long,
and the nights and mornings flit past like buzzing biting insects.
there's not much to report, really,
because while it is all really happening,
none of it is new,
and even less of it is good.
real life is an A*-hole;
never quiet, never soft.....