amniotic

Amniotic fluid. Put me back in so that I may float and so that the seeds may be sucked back up into the tree by their helicopter backs. I spend most of my time being angry at people I love. I’ve forced myself into a state of hibernation, I can’t remember the last time I was truly awake. Apparently I’m spending and transacting but, I don’t know if I’ve ever given or gotten. When I was sixteen I dislocated my elbow, and the EMTs couldn’t figure out how to fit my broken body out of the door. My Dad carried me in his arms to the ambulance and I blacked out there, arced over him like I’d fallen from the sky. During the surgery they gave me an experimental ketamine and I had a dream that I was on a stretcher being wheeled through the birth canal. There were baby heads rolling around my forward moving carcass. Amniotic fluid. The lubricant of oblivion which my body gropes toward, my body either held or groping. 

I’m high now so maybe I’ll write better. I always think I write better when I’m high. It’s always a roll of the dice what weed will make me feel. Right now it’s making me think too much about people and making me regret it. There is a tiny lady knocking at the right side of my brain and making me feel sorry. She’s making me feel hurt. And she’s also making me hear crickets and certain brief chants. When I talked on the phone to my Dad today, he said, “you know, if you smoke pot all the time, you’ll always be depressed.” He mechanized his eyes to express a worry for me that puts us into true conversation for a minute; just with eyes, just with an understanding of something deep and generational and distinct to us in that moment.