I havent been feeling that great. The reason? Words.
Words hang around my head like a swarm of bees. Im sure you can hear them when Im near. Hear that low level buzz? That constant murmur? Thats my words swirling about me like Im Canberra in a spring snowstorm. They sting. They hurt you.
That whirlwind of words fascinates friends, infuriates lovers, and keeps me blind to the realities.
I cant really see out through this veil of verbs; this burkha of blah blah blah. I cant see the real world. Not really. Words get in the way. They spoil the view. Like a billboard on a dune at the beach.
Oh, I do get glimpses of whats happening but that glimpse is but a springboard for my words. Puffed up words line up in ordered sentences, take one, two, three steps to the end of the board, and dive. Half pike with innuendo. Then, with an impressive lack of splash, vanish.
Those strained sentences and pithy phrases conspire to create a fantasy, not observe a reality.
And people get hurt. I hate that. (Sorry.)
So Ive been feeling terrible lately.
Its not the late nights. Or the drinking. Its not the disorientation of feeling winter in November. Though those things certainly dont help. (But if I didnt drink I wouldnt sleep at all. And if I didnt sleep thered be no respite from the terribleness. That would turn me to drink. Especially if its cold.)
My head has been in a constant surge, back and forth, of yakitty yak. Like a washing machine where the same t-shirt keeps coming around. Relentless.
Then it stopped.
A few days ago I woke at dawn in the back of the Mighty Camira (beside a rainforest creek) with a up-turned wine glass sitting in my shoe at the end of a dribbly red trail that ran from near my head to the dash.
I felt strange.
The creek gurgled but was left undescribed in my head. The sun didnt rise like a phoenix, cock or global warming, but simply was.
I wanted to say something but the welter of words, the sentence swarm, had buzzed off. Nothing. Not even a hanging participle.
I generally hide in a flurry of words. No-one sees me. Im a peeping tom leering out from between a thicket of paragraphs. But, that morning, nothing.
Synapse meltdown. Syntax burnout.
I thought of you, felt your pain (sorry), and then rolled your name around my mouth savouring it.
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