Self and reality. Symbol and language. Myth and image. Memory and consciousness.
Dream and unreality: locus communis.

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

the blood has a name

Bloodwork from the doctor’s exam revealed my blood sugars are climbing— so as a result, now I am borderline diabetic. Of course, ever since this disclosure of numbers, I have begun craving all the foods on the Avoid List: waffles drowning in syrup and whip cream, strawberries dipped in thick coats of chocolate, fistfuls of double-stuffed Oreos, cherry soda loaded with ice and condensation dripping, banana-hazelnut-mocha malt shakes, and salt-encrusted fries beside a small cup of ketchup (and just a dash of jalapeño sauce)— my stomach desperate for extra helpings of refined processed sweets.


the blood has a name that it carries through the body

it pools within a body’s nameless alleys of being, the blood that is

blood is stitched within the veins and arteries of our name; tissue and muscle of the body carrying the full burden

the body as a cardboard suitcase; blood as—

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