whipstitch

my mind is gelatinous. ha. a soup of ideas and fears and impulses and reservations and secrets. sloshing around between my ears. like a dam burst in there, or something. like the filing cabinets and drawing boards exploded, spilling their contents at random into that cavity in my skull where my carefully encoded and decoded, organized and elucidated, explored and categorized thoughts normally reside. but now it's a mess. a tangled, frothy, tidal mess. i feel cautious to explore this new state of mind, like now that my thoughts have collided and coincided and combined and coagulated, there might be something creeping in the bubbling depths. a mental loch ness monster. i've only waded knee-deep, metaphorical flashlight held aloft in an unsuccessful attempt to illuminate the murky shallows, but turned back out of fear of encountering those things i had carefully filed away in the deepest drawers before the hurricane, but which have now been uncovered. floating in the newly-formed reservoir in my head. maybe something singular will happen. an ice age. a solidifying of some kind, so that i can explore this roiling pit in silence and calm. i can re-organize, re-form. re-encode, restore. a restoration of clarity, that's what i need. a restoration of purpose, of calm, of understanding. this turmoil of confusion will be quieted and quelled. but try as i might, i can't seem to calm the waters on my own. to part the sea, to sift and separate, that is beyond my power. my only hope is to stay on the shore and pray for a miracle.

un dernier verre (pour la route) -- beirut

parachute -- shugo tokumaru

stalisbury hill -- peter gabriel