This morning I woke to a myriad of thought and pushed them back as far as I could. I rarely think "think" anymore I simply go on and on .. there was something about the preface of Mal in a word - malignant, malfunction, malady, "Mal" something...
I sit staring, read over previous recent posts, find I repeat myself and ponder my negligence as I question the purpose. "Purpose" could perhaps be interpreted as "pre pose" with space just like that - meaning you pre decide your pose. (and I'd use quotations on pre and pose but really is just silly and shows lack thereof)
Lack? Lack of what? proper punctuation, the inability to write as if I were speaking and have it understood. Well perhaps not understood, but slightly gleamed in the dimmest of dim.
I am here, there, and all over in my query ... tendrils ... I think for once on that, the way that I perceive a sunrise or a sunset, how I might not look at the center in all its glory but instead search desperately for the outside edge, the inside track to whatever might remain within and without.
It is as if I am playing a game of Clue within myself without the means to do so.. my mind wanders ...I don't even know where to find a dictionary within my home anymore and I stop as the realization hits full. I own several, one of which was often one of my mothers most prized possesion....
I'm just a ghost in this house but the words linger ... it is a haunt beyond beyond my control edging forward...
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