…a moment

you sit, and you write some shit….
and then you ctrl+a and type over it because what you wrote wasn’t indicative of the moment.
…it wasn’t real.
…it didn’t leave you feeling raw or alive or even like you were the one in front of the page screen. Okay maybe it’s I sit, I ctrl+a, I…. no matter, you get my meaning. I sit here and spew only pith for hours.  Then when I am tired and thinking “I should go home now” the zest comes. I’ve been  sitting and thinking and talking and walking around distracted and writing crap until the words come with that sting. Kinda like digging your cut finger into citrus. I know I have struck my supreme because I can’t stop the words. People can interrupt and still the sting remains, the words come. That beautiful effervescent spray of thought, that leaves it’s mark like the scent of freshly peeled citrus. Only moments pass and the page screen (yes sadly screen) is filled with whatever I had buried beneath the trash of days without sift. That’s how it goes… I spend long days unable to differentiate between standard eeg and thoughts for the page.
And then that moment.
That moment where it all forms and a release happens. Maybe the words from my fingers have nothing to do with anything that’s been on my mind for the past week, month, year. Or maybe they are manifest from all of it; whatever, they are sweet manna to my hungry soul. In that moment I am a whole being, complete in my task, my thought, my self, my gift, my receipt. It is beautiful and sanguine and complete. In that moment… I am me.

swing life away