whether to believe that reflection of myself as terrifying, the unconscious destroyer. all I was doing was writing my dreams.

-what if somebody saw this? what about my partner? my livelihood? my residency status?

-but it's not real! I don't own a pair of giant centipedes!

a little shop called the unicorn

coming home from the Junior College in a cab I see I can just follow my thoughts, make the "fields of sober lilies washing their hands", and windows, windoscopy, windoscope, endow, wend, winnow, minnow, blue nail parings snailing the windows, etc (but only the word 'etc' not the actual etc, just the impression of its possibility).

I think about the scene in the Wrath of Khan - or Flash Gordon - something about memories, please don't take my memories, it's taken my whole life to collect them - feeling shocked at this - is this what one has to do to be an adult? To do the work of collecting memories? Or one would be empty.

Thinking in the cab there is no empty, that's a lie, just look around, nothing's empty. And the memories won't disappear or get used up, just the big ones maybe will dissolve to reveal their components, or one will see the small ones in between them. Possibly the big ones are myths which inhibit memory, anyway. And language - there's no limit on that, either. The stream of possible combinations. Understanding it to be true but uneasy, it seems like a trick.

fields of sober lilies wash their hands