I write to you on the internet to say hello. There are spiders in the underwell. My solar luminosity has leveled for the time being right now for this moment. I am a romantic. I bear witness. There is a bowl of figs in my drawer. Out the window I see white stars flat and heartbreaking like cardboard cut out stars through smoke that billows but doesn’t move. My horoscope reads Your own creative urges will be running hotter than usual and are most likely to thrive in contexts that are themselves teeming with lush fertility and rich diversity. I don't understand this and I'm tired of teeming with lush fertility. I imagine all the wet sickness galloping over the beige false wall of my face making its way into my lungs. This is not good at all. I am fatally critical of myself. I want to fling a box of Kleenex™ at me. I want to tell me to get some manners. I want to dose myself with hand sanitizer. I want to push the bottle of hand sanitizer into my mouth. I imagine good fortune and lush fertile health in my lungs and my house. It's only 7 AM and I'm hungry already. I am having Robert Downey Jr's baby. It was a surprise to me as well. It was only a matter of time. My bad attitude has turned itself around unexpectedly. I have no idea why. Maybe hormones from the pregnancy. December perks around the corner even though its Augst the month of spiders and new shoes. I have figs and leftover soup. Enough soup for a barren winter. I will eat and eat and eat to feed the baby and grow a gigantic stomach then I will watch television with the sound off then I will fall up a flight of stairs and perhaps unseat the baby or perhaps not. It is Saturday of Thursday. Time is slippery everyone agrees on this one thing. It feels like looking into a rifle barrel. It feels like Test Day. My hands are becoming machines. I am becoming a machine. Pregnant and old with legs and figs in my drawer. I am 70 since Saturday. No one wants to read the ramblings of an old woman so I’ve invented a new brain for myself. I am 70 but don’t worry. I am only here to practice and to say hello. Hello.
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This is a poem post but of course all of your posts are poems. I don't know whether it's the pregnancy hormones or the new age of you but this is starlit to my eyes and not flat cut-out stars either. The ones that glow with their own heat and light- that kind. My mind has provided the perfect black velvet sky for them to rest on so that their sparkle is even better.
Also, you are beautiful.
This is stunning