I love that my world changes. That things become other over time, the red shift happening here and now and open. Sometimes though… Occasionally I end up saddened slightly. I saw friends today at the Park Party that I haven’t seen in a very long time and I don’t know how to talk to them anymore. I stood lost for the thoughts, the words that I could use to communicate. I felt like I was fifteen and tagging along, not knowing how people moved yet. I wanted to hold my friends and kiss them for being so precious yet I could not find one word of connection. I was this close to them, that one I almost slept with. Twice. And yet, and yet, and so now what? How do I slip back into it? The psychedelic theorem of raver psyche. I’ve lost it. I need to follow the parties again. I need to be taken back into the circle and let the drums beat the vocabulary back into my brain. Dreadlocks and too wide pants and long hair and too much marijuana. The people I used to live with, work with. House of Slack. Living at Main & Hastings, our front door in the official scariest alley in Canada. Floor painted chroma key green and dancing to Rabbit spinning in the banksafe. The people I looked up to. We had movies and games ten feet high. There was family there this afternoon/evening. Grady gave me my first nickname. My first encounter with friends. I was the third member of Trypt on Media. The Ghoddess Canibisita. We would stay up lights out and talk until the stars drowned in morning. “I don’t know who I talked to before I met you” That bedroom in the basement under the banksafe, choking in the summertime. How have I lost his interaction number in my minds communication? I don’t know how to get it back. This is my family, and it has been taken from me. The neurons fire and fail. I feel mute.
My tongue has been stolen.
Save me world, from this crime of self.