lost my touch, fingertips are gone, my prints are all over.

Where does wind form?

There is an ecological answer to this question, yet this targets the  origin of impulse, of how your hand moves when you walk. How will I bite into my food, what pattern will it leave? 

Wood is starting to look like lemons, squeezable, taking grounds into my abdomen, acidic souvenir, it's exciting to feel sour.

 

It was a Thursday, I wanted to wake up early, I fell asleep late. We do that a lot, and I blame all the blue lights and streaming pictures. A lot has happened that has no ground to place it yet. My process is slow and hole-ridden. Everything seems a loophole for a longer path where I have to take it apart even more: think of eating a fruit, you can bite, but you can cut and remove the stem and seeds, so you cut, once twice, remove with delicate hand and knife, like taking the bee out of the window, now you have those pieces, you could remove the skin, lay it bare, maybe cut it into smaller cubes, on heat with cinnamon, prolong the process, and then I realize I only do it in my head. The process does not happen. I'm reminded of 'Almonds' by Won-Pyung Sohn, about a boy who does not feel pain. He describes to you how to eat almonds. I let this book slip my mind too fast, it is not to be held in hands or any body parts for that, he was this creature of shadows.

Today, a Saturday, I lost consciousness about the weeks past. I spent some days lying till my stomach hurts, some days talking till the inside of my head turns paper white. I feel light every day. Empty some days, some days like the wind. I wander these new walls, travel the grooves of tiles, listen to the sound of strangers falling into familiarity.

Two days earlier, it was a Thursday too, I have yet to decide the ways I will take, and how to stay in the place where my feet stand. Talking to someone made me realize I fear constants and to be unknown.

Free will is bought and consumed like organic plant-based milk, following the logical, morally right conclusion of today's state of the world. It is a currency held to your throat with no erotic charge, the means to kill you like a machine. +++++