quartz

tangled postings sheets sun on sheets. anger, at what? starting again today, getting in the right frame of mind today, already out of sorts... dreams of barking dogs, something else that woke me shocked awake (can't remember). tired of cold, tired of bed, tired of frozen lungs.

my shoulders are tired of remaining as hunched, bird-claws clenched, ribcage breath...

i know i need to adjust the surroundings, change to new, escape!

even the screen is flecked with ice.

i see helicopters and sun, they are towing the plane that flew into the hudson yesterday. i can't see this, but i know it is happening. the plane looked like a small bird that flew into the water... and people standing on the wings, like children, or penguins clustered. what is it that allows us to connect with anonymous tragedy, almost tragedy, the what-if or almost-was. i usually sit over the wing, i usually sit in the exit row. i wonder if i would have been able to lift the plane door and throw it , heavy, into a cold sea. i like to think that something like this "wakes me up" or "reminds me what is important". what it really signifies is a disconnect in my own life-- the desperate need for me to plug back in to my own life-- bone intimacy and ropes of hot blood. we only have so many rituals that allow us to feel alive, like animals i suppose.

i'd like to feel my body in the early morning desert sun. i'd like to feel shafts of light around my face, my skull, to bathe myself in a landscape that is mostly dust but crystalline-- solidified shell but translucent,

quartz.