There’s a transcendental meaning to all of this, and exhaustion is simply the beginning to understanding it.
We’re not made perfectly down here, but our parts were made to perfectly fit together, and that’s enough for me.
I think that after all of this drifting, I’m more than driftwood, more than rubble, and more than a bundle of firewood for use later in the evening.
I’m still figuring out where to begin my search for what IS there, and despite my confusion I am always aware of everything at once, which confuses me.
Serious inquiries scare me, and I’m never quite up for the task of responding to them, and yet I’m always rising above something.
To be caught in the paradigm is the worst of my fears, and confinement means resignment, which may enter into reassignment, and my friends are still homeless, homosexuals, who are dependent on things that destroy them and I am no better, and no worse, myself.