memories are all afterlife in response.
partials of moments of then,
crossdressing in the medium of now.
I can finger point at them occurring.
they scamper by and drop hints.
they make each moment going forward
a mixed media event unfolding.
I wanted steadfast into this moment's now
but always get mixed scenes,
as if life through the window glass
and yet reflection off the glass
from then also.
now seems to always be hinting,
as if referencing something unresolved.
maybe the past is unfinished sentences
and hearsay like this is self-talk haunting
in a moment's cup of tea.
the first sip does not taste
like the bottom's offering.
fade to black seems like
a conclusion is coming,
but baffling like that never lasts for long.
I can be a somber mind in observance
but then mindfullness is tasky in that way
and humdrum has its own motor,
that takes me somewhere else
in a vague but momentous way.
I get that this is chatty,
even if I have to pretend
that you are following.
there is a hypnotic buoyancy
for me with this.
even if I was saying all of this out loud,
and you were a real person in my world.
look, I can actually talk to myself like this
and also be an avid listener.
so much of self intimacy works for me
in just this simple say-so way.
maybe this is my way of claiming
that I am self-partnered,
but originally thought of it
as being mentally disturbed.
but don't feel that way anymore.
this is self-discovery,
while waiting in line to be my self.
so one of me interacts with the world outside
and the other me connects the dots,
inwardly and then lets me know about it.
what a difference a worldview is
from mine going forward . . .
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