Between Jello and Death
Wherein I listen, to a loved one, to a loved one...
Between Jello and Death
alive
The bundt cake pans able to be checked out at the library might be fun for a jello mold special!
I like the animism of jello, the way it reminds us water has a nervous system, that water's system is just that much slower and faster than our own and is still learning to love and recognize our own. "Alive," as the ad has put it.
clarity
My favorite flavor of jello might be jasmine tea; I understand I have failed, if not the spirit of the question, at least the expectation of that spirit. Let me make it up to them:
napping
My refusal to eat jello is not stubbornness but knowing what jello tastes like so intimately there's found family. It is not just okay for me to have this hard line, it is clarity's power napping, to have [an undo button, a way to add an apostrophe-s, a grammatical super-glue that dries and just leaves: superglue] this hard line.
curiosity's bed
Perhaps what I like for a treat is the taste of awareness - your tongue you never go inside it very much, but allow me that place behind you where that place is the inside of your tongue. Remember, I like crawling around Jesus's nervous system while the guy hangs in the cross because that place is fascinating to me the same way everyoje suffering long-covid is fascinating to a general audience today.
It's not just morbid, curiosity, it is actual wonder.
That transformation is delightful as photosynthesis. Take the sun, let that be rage. Let the sun be your rage. How do you feel? Abouy heard? Feel like the rage you experience is being sufficiently expressed? Taste it:
other things
Who do you jot like? Get the cloak from death, and have someone turn death's scythe inyo a claw machine. Everyone in the clawmachine is everyone your rage wishes was in the claw machine. Now, pick out someone you are looking to get out of that machine. Let them come up and over and down into the grip of the cloak of death. This is the inside of your tongue.
It is every ancestor, and every descendant. (Pause, to cry.) It is the taste of awareness. Welcome you're Tongue of presence. Speak for presence. This isn't old-fashioned. This isn't new fashioned. But I think this of the fashioned family. In this way, is it "old-fashioned" enough to say: "people" today, are motes of light. Let this be true.
People today are motes of light. They fall into your tongue. Draw a rainbow from your tongue yo your brain, leave space in the margins of the rainbow for the rest of your body. You are Tongue, your body is presence And I am inside of you. This isn't a big deal - I am motes of light. What does that mean to you (How does that feel?). Question-mark-closed-parentheses just the last words I said only to whisper the question goes inside the open space at the edge of the breath.
(Are they breathing?)
weird things
Yes. These weirds things I do. My loved ones are happy because they cry when I am inside them, listening, every ear ever walked from the corpus callosum of two continents to the far reaches of the world. Corn might have done an oopsie becoming co much cattle there's not just jello but photography itself, which was once so linked to cattle that when the cattle lost access to mustard seeds the color film cattle (after eating the corn) turned into. Every picture is from a cow's hoove's eye.
Does that make you happy - it's a weird thing corn does for her loved ones. Here's your tongue back.