Joy of Stopping.
Cold Rain, Joy of Stopping in the Cold Rain.
Stopping by Starbucks on a Rainy Summer Afternoon.
Air conditioned like a bunch of plague victims.
Hurts, Incest. Insects. Sex.
Joy of Stopping.
Cold Rain, Joy of Stopping in the Cold Rain.
Stopping by Starbucks on a Rainy Summer Afternoon.
Air conditioned like a bunch of plague victims.
Hurts, Incest. Insects. Sex.
Dreams of misbehavior in the presentation. Dreams of sexual arousal. Dreams of dreams. Dreams of washing, dishwashing a large green rubbery container, unwieldy in the soapsuds.
brief thoughts of sex—need for writing about sex—some struggle in the bedroom and some insight—my mother unable to find comfort unable to take refuge—what is my refuge? yes the moment’s smell and that sensation walking on this trail this step-by-step, yes, your shoulder and pow—the odors of your hair sensation pressing mouth into your shoulder upper arm, sensation from other parts of body sensation pleasure from the use of muscles in my limbs with a calibrated abandon—leading okay—leading out of mind—it is a kind of practice—the flexibility to change your frame of reference—to let the body lead (no breath awareness) but—this is something I have learned