LOOKING

wtf am i even looking at.  I’m comforted. by the freling of me phone in my yands landscape, trying to fill in the. buttons to my words with these tiny vertically narrow letters. i hateee iphone portrait mode. my eyes weren’t made for that.  

but.  what the fuck am i even looking at. the picture of my bedroom setup and desk in dark but lit by flash photos.  i seem to have forgotten the movements if an artist and a practice, to undergo daily life with regime and the outlooks of a hawk or the. engaging body of a bimbo. perhaps never the latter be ause forme the buddhist nature seems most ideological and sensible for me. the ups create the down. 

it see s whenever i don’t mnow what the fucj I’m looking at il(side notes it smuch easier on the wrists to hold lands ape phone when on back in bed) that i can onky write to be sentmental and romantic. prior orfollowing these currents bear an unfielded and inaccurate confidence, a quiet confidence and curiosity i wnder to try and find again.  but whats with all these trying and stopping and starting and oushing and pulling? fruetrating to not live by a sincular new clearer and self serviing force.  icannot be wrong or have mqde such huge mistakes. I’m also traumatized by that one night, the ine where i sat in my room nose to the floor and the. orner room sill w. curtains up talking to the phone. and the forgetting of oneself in ceetain moments due to what can only be described as living skin. i neee to process thes ealone and i don’t ecen undersraje what ive written, though so thoroughly simple, to its fullest settled meaning. its tuesday jul 13 my how time has come. amen. goodnight. the hard part will be getting up in the morning.