i've been touched by their despair. signatures in thought, words, brushstrokes on canvas, or melodies on eardrums. sometimes rejoicing to, other times empathizing with. wrapping my mind around to grasp, sink in or float on whilst rarely breathing, feeling it. rush around the body. kiss its cheek. blow through like shivers. the mind, it tries. vigorously it tries to figure out what it already knows–though through accepting the keystone as heart, it dethrones itself. contradiction.
in its self-righteousness and separation as the driver to the body, the rider, the viewer; in its own complication and majesty, must assume that it is greater than any organ, greater than merely flesh: a divine entity in itself. even whilst writing these words the surface of my subconscious snickers that the hand lay out such sentiments. tis true, that most forget to forget, and i, myself, will spend much time trying to remember to forget. trying to quiet this inner monologue.