Themes

What happens when we can no longer communicate.

It was a theme I returned to so often when I was younger. I dreamed I had my lips sewn together. I painted the image again and again. Without my mouth sewn up there would be an open and silent scream, that old dream where you shriek nothing but silence into the heart of your panic, your teeth crumbling to sand, a dream of the desert and parched throats gaping like dried fish. This is the dream then that I come to when I think about this book about the brain. Strange place of flesh blood, ideas leaping across watery crevasses.

This is the beginning of something I was writing for my other place, my brain book, www.mybrainbook.blogspot.com I navigated away from it and when I came back this fragment of text was gone.

I had liked a piece of it that I couldn't replicate. I liked "shriek nothing but silence into the heart of your panic" I wanted to replicate it but this was the piece that I couldn't find in my head. What I came to was something else, similar, but different. I wrote the post. I scheduled it to go live in a day or so and then I clicked over to the vagina page 'furvag' as it has been dubbed by a few who read it. So here it is, this fragment that I have rescued and yet it is not out of place here in this strange place of flesh, blood, ideas leaping across watery crevasses.

It has been a good day in a way, Very fractured, fragments torn from sleeplessness and woven into a wasted day, but some things have happened some of which belong on mybrainbook, some of which belong here, but as I am sharing ideas across the sites I will outline them.

1. John Hughes has been longlisted for a major award. John Hughes is my latest literary fascination. I believe he has made a cameo in both my current on-line writing projects, where literature fires up my lust and my writing simultaneously orgasming on the page and in my flesh.

2. I thought about the possibility of falling out of fondness for my latest obsession. I felt a little jet of terror break through the clot that had been formed by my turning over of our imaginary relationship. I felt the easing of worry and insecurity. I felt comfortable with myself, not beautiful, not charming or beloved, but unwatched. The relief and loss that I experienced was neither good nor bad. I sat in the uncomplicated ordinariness of my life and realised that I would survive without it. Not thrive, but also not wilt.

3. I saw people through my tired and unwatched new eyes and realised that I stood up just fine. My constant self comparisons were unwarented. I am fine. Not great, but fine and all those other people are also not good, but fine. Some of them are pretty. Some of them are sharp and quick-witted, some of them have friends hovering around them and some walk alone and quiet. So I am here now. On edge, but not fallen yet. Hanging on in there. Hanging around. Hanging my hopes and dreams on other people's judgements of me.

And this is how it is.