Between Comforting and Disturbance
Wherein a bit flips another off...
Between Comforting and Disturbance
My cells are so mad at me! Morning routine floods, chants - "Down with the matriarchy!" Attention rushes to tend, cells bot-like and starving. Words. Blog. They want to tear me apart, drink my blood [they are]. Moon writes shore I write them.
Can't be too hard.
We channel (read: I'll write). Flow. Me, takes care. You, feels not, just ears, unconscious; It's not happening though. That's some platonic. Some wish writing be headwater - reading let in one eye out the other. Onto world in the best way. That's eurythra. You can't be "just ears"!
That doesn't even try to make sense. How can you be just ears? Is grass ever just pollen? Is wind ever just this breeze? Is life ever just this word? Who're you now, new born? Who're you, here? How can I help you? What may you need?
My Needs
How much autonomy? Which days off? Do you serve? State your query. This just in:
You, but at the end of this post, exists. You might not want it. You might avoid (thoughts of) it. But you're there. Waiting for you (hi). At the end. Excited to talk to you. Meet you, be meat with you. Gorgeous creature you are, soft. Words! Capacity to tend ((not just now) <- but every now that is). Holding space creating this.
Feeling I happen to you - believe you're air, you're teeth, your tongue, child, project, treat. These words are just placenta. Find your way to every now this is. When the question is autonomy, eat.
Your Needs
What kind of attention does your autonomy need right now?
From 201[ ] comes a figure for, not wpm (words per minute) but thoughts per minute. It's some magnitude frictionproof attention offers above the course body of stone word (must) carve through, to be. These are those. They'ren't light. Occurance. Words happen (where thoughts go) - understood-your.
It's autonomy!
Not much, is it? It's the match your strike across the side of your scruff to light your plants. It's humas (that is, "human"). To die, metaphor comes here; tend. If all seven thousand generations of the human were treated as a single person, there are 255 other years to capitalism's 256th. All 4,000 winters of civil society started on this impromtu calender, at year 250.
Check-in Questions
These 625 winters composing a single year of autonomy for capitalism can feel like asking each other what spring is allowed look like. We learned everything we needed in school to see our autonomy paralysed. See for yourself:
- Do your struggles with choice serve you?
- Does your morning routine reflect your values?
- Are the dreams your body weave kind to you?
Who do you serve, reading this? Has check-in disturbed the comfortable? Has check-in comforted the disturbed? Do these questions serve the one that feels too big to eat:
What kind of attention does your autonomy need right now?