the pain in my arm
has never harmed me
in the air
this bothersome little
strain
on the tendon
is only ever annoying
when writing
or scrolling
or holding
or driving
it never affects me while flying
which is nice
but
it does make me think that
my bod just wants to be a circus performer
and nothing else
nothing
“normal”
at least
i feel at odds
with my own creativity
with my own wants and needs
with my own life as i’m living it
amongst people
everything feels so fallible
so ephemeral
and i suppose it all is
it’s just, there might be some time
before all the skills and abilities
and friends and life
leaves us
so we might as well have fun while we can
[rather than worrying ourselves
into complete stagnancy]
the sharp pain behind my knee
reminding me that my body is fallible
in the most silly of ways
interesting
how i’m experiencing a page-turner
of a story
i want to imbibe
that is being created in my mind
but the only way to find
what truly happens
is when i commit
and write
even when i plan ahead of time
i have no idea where this story
is actually going
guess i have to write
Annee
and Jini
and Lynnette
and Jane
each of you raised me
in your own way
and i still ache for you
every
single
day
but i wish i had a wish
that could come true
and i’d be
satisfied
i’m hitting a wall
with mood and motivation
where, when one interest finally finds investment from me,
all the others
fall
[and i think i may need them
all
to be truly happy]
write what you know
and then write it a little farther away
using metaphor
or simile
or narrative tactics
that make it seem
like it may not be about your life
at least not completely
but we all know
we all know
every writer carries hundreds
if not thousands
if not millions or billions or trillions of
selves
with them at all times
[or is that just every human
as we live and grow and change and morph
into each of our
many
many
many
final forms]
waking up from a wild dream
with ideas for a story
but honestly, once fully awake,
there are far more questions about this concept
than an initial start to writing
but i suppose i’ll just have to see
what it may become
eventually
by writing it
what actually was the noise
that connected us to the internet
in the early/mid nineties?
was it the future screaming at us
to maybe think better of it?
was it our computers
being used for something they hadn’t thought
they’d be used for
and that stretch and strain on the inner workings
just needed to exhale a little
in a digital-type-sound?
or was it simply a pre-made set of
futuristic sounds
composed for our
soon-to-be
post-apocalyptic
future?
[i suppose i could ask kip
and they may know…]
[but i don’t think i’m going to ask right now…
maybe in a few minutes — i’m still trying to think of
other possibilities it could have meant]
kipventures 