“Fluid minds carve their own path in humble, crafted words”
Tonight on the ferry, after looking up over the blurred characters of my philosophy reader I felt this strange merging with the blackness of the water, wanting to get away into some murky depth; liquid slickness that sheaths itself over light, some organic, primordial notion of the world.
‘Authenticity’ I remarked, until it had to recontain itself in some black medium, some opaque limit. Here my body spread outside the corporeal outlines of warmth and out into the cold light where my hands ached, my mind excited itself and landed me here, to spill out, gurgling like the water retaining itself around the vessel; the moving entity, out into utterance. I came to juggle these words, like a joker, who cuts up his mind into moments with their simple truth… until the sensual authentique kissed the lips of perception and reminded me again that I’m moving. Up-ho-ho…skidding, sliding with the water.
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