I am training for something bigger.
Some string has dropped down just in front of me and I’m pulling away at it like mad.
I’m shaving ice, I’m trimming fat, I’m packing bags.
I’m picking scabs and I can feel my mind talking to itself, teaching itself, as my gunny nerves get ready.
Time is standing still these days, in this era of preparation.
My organs are working on a secret.
I have grown quiet and withdrawn, not as punishment but as a gift, being the way I must.
I speak to almost no one.
Everything I choose is wholly right and I have no interest in other people’s doings anymore-
all is bound to my experiments, my constant remolding and pushing.