what you say when there is too much to say
I should be writing and I am writing writing writing writing all the time non-stop, go go go in my head, heart racing with nowhere to get to. Repeating myself rambling gasping for air falling over falling in falling head over heels—
The speed of my thoughts has no name not the speed of light not the speed of water not the speed of a million butterflies all dying at the same time, and certainly not a speed that I can type at. It is all too sudden, too quick, too soon and too much. There is no way to write these things down, but I try because I should be writing— and not writing-erasing-writing, really writing—
What else is left to us after all after the consolation of pouring it all out, releasing the burden or burdening someone else with it (a privilege we pay dearly for and our dears do as well). Nothing will ever compare to writing because even comparing is writing, everything is writing letters dots commas dashes on a page digital or real or all in my head. It is all in my head, this is how it works, a knife pushed with an open palm that cuts everything it encounters, cuts up reality life blood vessels paper, cuts so sharp there is no bleeding at least not for a while. This is how it works or doesn’t work, works its power over me and I try to work out the work that has gone into all of this, all of me, all of you—
Creating this world, not a mean feat, not by a far cry, and nothing I have am can wish is a match to it, there is no reply, I have no answer to that immense all-encompassing question or challenge that was posed to me on the day the world was created. Nothing I can say do write live breathe or die is even a ghost of an answer and if so why say write live breathe or even die?