When I need to draw something important this is what I do. Yet when I am falling slowly closed eyed through a dream this is what I cannot do. I cannot beckon or become; neither ink nor ash satiate, since they are not waters that I can see through clearly. I need waters from which I can purify this toxic urgency. In this place I am taught to elucidate what matters from what does not at times when I cannot differentiate my pulse from impulse. I cannot pull apart ink from ash nor the seasons that weep and are always weeping their conclusions in me.
I love and that is the consequence. I care and that is the instruction.
As I fall slowly, close eyed, I lend myself to the reality of the situation, saying, I have seen enough. I say this so often that it blinds me to all that is yet to be seen. I say this so often, it becomes a mantra that repeats me. Defeating as it does the seen things that storm this existence where my refuge has become a broken bell that rings with the toxic urgency I seek to purify. I stumble from the mouth of the mantra sounding impulsively – a warning which neither side can hear nor heed. This is the importance of what I need to draw. This is the resounding of what I cannot do.
DoubleSpeak 