aimless, drifting.

glassy eyes fixed on the rippling water.
-

we brush our feet over a silk carpet that seen from one direction has the colours of a garden of roses, blooming in many shades; seen from the other it takes the colours of the stems.

the classical pianist chides the maid for neglecting the air conditioning. after the meal, while she's serving the chocolates, we applaud her cooking. water trickles through the pool on which the dining platform is set. the lights turn suddenly green, we all look hard and indistinct. it's a fault in the wiring of the adjustable RGB lamp. 

I had tea with a friend and trouble lifted away. the moon let me go. hormone hell over. one week exactly - 26th Feb to 5th of March.

It's not that there aren't other factors, there are, and some months (not many) go by without too much disruption; I might feel more tearful and tender, dream more, need to take things slowly and be introspective, but nothing BAD happens. But if circumstances are off (say I get sick beforehand, or there's some life-upset) it's like - the kind of transformation you feel when someone dies or violence enters your life. a sense of evil in the world, in the people on the street, in the room next door. And of personal and collective doom, of an unclean death in process now, all around. here on the later cusp of it, it's not that I don't feel that that perception is real. but it recedes, and I do not want to chase it. maybe in a couple of days I will be able to put into words the other, safer reality. for now I just feel relief and by simple things- exercise, meditation, sleep, regular waking, regular work, trees, friends - I try to secure it. 

I dreamed that campus was a small resort, and I was arranging accommodation and events for a writer, and tickets to go and see a movie with N. The students saw me in line and I told them I was taking time in lieu. then I was sitting with the yoga instructor at a table at breakfast. A couple stood up to speak, the man pulling the woman up and saying 'my wife has something to say. she would like to apologise to you all'. The yoga instructor pinched my hand, to express tension and dismay, because we both knew immediately he was abusing her. The wife proceeded to read out an incomprehensible apology full of psychotic religious reference that he had scripted for her. I watched her eyes and his eyes, both big and brown and bruised, and saw there the history of what she had been. my hand was being pinched throughout. 

every day collapse, every day resurge. nothing I can easily control. just do my best. is it really not like this for other people? if I can't go this path there's another path. 

peeled a stamp onto it and sent it off. righteous anger. in a box: 'that it was like hearing a baby cry and being unable to pick it up.' 

--

I saw today a crying baby being carried through the jammed mall. maybe a year old, passing me on my right. mouth wide, wet face... carried by a young dad, baby reaching hand out to young mother....

and passing me on my left another one year old, also being carried but peaceful, and transfixed by the mirror scene, chasing it with head and eyes as they passed, face full of wonder....

decided to learn to twerk. fell down dead inside of 30 seconds.

how to.

a commenter: "WTF is this 787 know right from wrong fucking young girls YOU FAILED YOUR MOTHERS YOUR MOTHERS TOLD YOU GO TOO SCHOOL NOT SHAKE YOU ASS ALL YOU GIRLS LOOKING AT THIS ARE FAILURES YOUR FAMILY IS DISCUSTING YOU PIECE A SHIT"

yup he's a poet.

links off a twerking video both to an unassisted freebirth and a water-inflatable male sextoy demo. 

I dreamed last night that the mum made soup for everyone, out of menstrual blood. It was nutrient- and vitamin-rich, thin like vegetable juice, frothy, and somehow sterile, as in, asexual - like, agamogenetic?