blinded by the sun

 blinded by the sun

fingers trembling

shaking limbs

agitated algae medicine

swimming

stirring

finger dippin'

love

children in the sun

bare skin

warm glow

fresh lemon cucumbers

missing my friends

whom i pushed away

pushed away

pushed away

blinded by the sun

blinded by the sun

blinded by the 

disgust

over

the distance

i could or cannot

overcome

deeply alone

in my cage

(lungs)

(wound)

(fabric)

talking to girls

 talking to girls

talking to girls

talking to girls

talking to girls

I TALKED TO SOME GIRLS LAST NIGHT

I did not follow them home

I did not sleep in her bed

I did not eat with her

I did not look too long into her eyes

but next time

I will 

questioning this blog as a response to my ... locked down throat talk

 I used to write in this blog just because no one would read it and now it's listed on a public profile of my Instagram

So it feels like like it is a private blog

less like a sheer skirt with red underwear 

less like how you let your skirt hem snag on a rough patch of skin

as you adjust it upwards upwards upwards

so then, it is more real this, whole, "making the public private" thing i think I am doing

this thing it feels like is a disrespectful gross thing

I just thought we were living in a surveillance state

I thought that 20 years ago

I thought to myself, everything is already public

and we now know how deeply it is, but wasn't it always with simply different technology?

__________moving forwards_____stepping into____ the nur system___ the practice ____ the product___the potion____ the omen___ the poem

the abrupt ending

 why the

inesacpabable sounds

hit

Diary Entry July 31st 2026

 Dear Diary,

I woke up at 7:45am and it was just because the sun was shining. I went to bed around midnight.. wait let me check my phone records... yeah that's probably accurate because I made a call at 11:13pm while driving home from .. Shamoth's house. 

Oh wait now I just remembered to fill out my time card.

Okay i'm going to try a trick to overcome my avoidance with simple and easy tasks

I'm going to think of a song that is the feeling, in this case, the line, "Paranoia paranoia everyone is coming to get me." That's kind of what it feels like to think about doing my time card

warm in your towel after I laid in winter some wildflowers seeds which grew out of my child-heart

 underneath cold water pretending to be Ophelia

in january 2006

with wildflowers which dried and hurried to freeze

bugs and twigs

beside the grandfather grandmother tree

IM FUCKING BLEEDING PLEASE HELP ME

as I swallow dirt after heapfuls of dirt

and float up to 

float up to

float beside you ghost 

MOUTHFULS OF EARTH OF MY MOTHER FATHER BROTHER LOVER

and spit it out and spit it out and spit it out

YUCK

fucking vile piece of earth tainted by so many layers of duff lifted up to soon

for your MODERNITY

and the bamboo forest screaming with bats

scratching behind my back at the Arden fair

trails behind behind the forest

and the young tender flesh of the bamboo meat

my mother being so open to me taking the kitchen knife into the ground to lift it up

as if reading a single article about how it takes ten years to train to cut YOUNG FLESHY UNDERGROUND bamboo is enough

when i hold the kitchen knife in between my teeth

between cutting different pieces of bamboo

and carrying long 20 feet pieces of it through the 

annals of my childhood 

(you know what I am referring to.. the Morris library at the University of Delaware? we dragged FOUR pieces of bamboo into its lobby in winter, and the snow was pink and sparkly)

when you see me grit my teeth and bare it

how could you not know i have heaps of dirt covering my teeth

and underneath I am screaming so very loudly for help

but when i look down, I see myself, BOCA ARRIBA, the gauze, the genocide, the hospital, the Palestinian and half-Palestinian crying like a siren and no one listening

silence all around 

and all i am is some ... flesh-book in the library that recorded all the stories she has ever heard, and together they make a beautiful sound called noise

typos

 poor grapho motor precision

gargantuan head-like

finger pads 

paddles swaying, lifting earth

weight of the world in her shoulders, her fingers

speech that is silent when more needed

emptied breath

clenched lungs

sore and flattened nipples

emptied milk-bags

loss of value

endless burden

open palm

holding one hand up to to catch the wind

like a sail

intracranial pressure rain = water = tears = __________ .

I was sitting inside this coffee shop with all windows on the outside walls, locking my bike up before and feeling the air fill with moisture and the sky darkening pumping air into the sides of my cranium

And as I sat saved myself from the rain I began to find tears running down my face and of course I looked up and it was raining heavily pounding and I with neutral affect sat with wet eyes and cheeks and wet upper collar bone and waited for my face to stop crying.

and as soon as the pressure let up and the rain slowed down, I did stop. 

face dried quickly

and before that, when i was leaving the house with my bike I got hit in the eye by a soft leaf swinging into my face as i was leaving my backyard hanging my bike on my left shoulder stumbling to protect my other eye from the bike handles, and my right eye was irritated and injured- it teared up and turned red, swollen. 

eye contracted and calmed quickly

sky opening now

floods still building

mouth still waiting

well of the world inside myself

i think i truly might be a cenote to Xibalba

garret is a bully

all my writing is shit tears

and pulling the skin back on my ribs

and shaking in the ball cage

and shooting lasers out my eyes

and if i breathe

a tear falls out my eye

and if I speak a small village gets demolished

 that fast

that fast

that fasting

that fast fire

ebbing me in

sides on thorny

concrete glowing

gluing pieces together

at night a wind

enters

my spine

and backs out

and backs out and backs out

incandescent groan

mildly uplifting