Seems like I’ve missed a few of the Friday Free Writes. It’s the early hours of Tuesday, but it seems like a good time for free writing just the same.
There are two mixed and complex sides. Either side of the same coin with two differing faces. Things that cannot be together, but there they are. Like the fire hovering above the ice. Something like halves and something like being whole. Stitched together while coming undone. Kind of like a race to keep it from falling apart. A little bit like knowing and a bit of forgetting. Makes me think of how it must be like if you have dementia. That beginning part of the disease when the person is aware that they are loosing their cognitive functions but they still can’t recall what it is that they have been forgetting. It’s sad and must be scary. Stopping and letting go while catching it up into an embrace. Loving you with all my hate. Sometimes we really can feel both things at the same time. Far way in another land at my doorstep a friendly neighbor or maybe song. Pieces that are scattered all about neatly lined up in careful rows. Little bits of yarn that are coming together to make a blanket or little critter. Everything inside me spilling out tightly bound up and hidden away. Putrid stink of rotting flesh from the freshly blooming rose. And no idea what the next line of that should be. I think I like the start of this but I think I’ll have to clean it up. Seems all kinds of rambling and disjointed, but that’s alright for now. Sharp gnashing teeth rending tender flesh breaking against stone bones. I’m trying to think of images and such that are contractions and paint the suggestion that they are things that are happening at the same time. I think that people are like that. Complex and mixed up until there are things that don’t seem like they should be in the same heart, yet there they are as comfortable as two peas in a pod. Twins born apart. Falling rain soaking through my shirt down to dry dusted skin. Heated snow melting down to ice upon the touch of my heart. Bleeding wounds from closed skin. Brightness shining from colors of only black and white. Forever passing in a single blink and then that blink nothing. Not sure where that one was going. I think there is something there, but it’s getting caught up in my head and I can’t wrench it out. I hate it when that happens. Ever happen to you when you write? I think it mostly happens when I free write and then I get a long line of these weird half thoughts that sometimes come together into an interesting way. I think that’s why it works for me, because it doesn’t come out so smooth. Running water that is frozen still. He is standing at the window with a hand on his pregnant belly. Not really a paradox, but something that it’s a right match either. I don’t think I really stayed on topic today. Awe well!