Plathological

thoughts during a full night

Stoning our animals to flesh.

I just realized that I'm about to move into one of the last places I'll be living in Victoria. I have trouble with the unacknowledged seminal, everyone knows that. Soft hearts, I'm listening to Bowie, Warszawa, and the two tracks that follow--Art Decade, Weeping Wall. It's good that I'm feeling like the music I listen to again. Torn from the sounds is a major part of the displacement, something silly about out of tune, two part harmony &tc. We're staying at Jaxon's father's apartment for the next three nights. It overlooks the park while at the same time being above the treeline. The balcony is carpeted, which either brings the inside out or the outside in, depends on whether you're wearing socks, how much cold runs over the tops of your feet. Anyway, it's a transplanting, has the same outcome as houseplants: is it the walls and roof or the leafs and roots that we're supposed to focus on? The soil brought in. I'm trying to compare most things to kitchen utensils, how they work through definitions, sometimes through the nearest translation from a language other than this one. This is the outcome with it: you finish with eating, the body takes care of the rest. Hand to mouth is the final required action, pressing the teeth down in a rhythm. I don't want to lose anybody. There's still something irrational here. The mood slowly settles. The next location. They're coming to get me in the morning. But for now, I really like seeing my life packed away like that, into loose boxes with open flaps. Things you have to carry with a straight back. Come get me.