Till then, set aside your duress
\nIt’s a historically messy process
\nWe these mystical, magical, absurdical, works in progress
\nAnd I promise you
\nLike a late night radio waiting for the dead air to be filled
\nThe music will find you
\nLightning is striking all the time.<\/p>\n
Excerpt of a poem by R.C. written for T. Paul St. Marie, found here<\/a><\/i><\/p>\n You know that sound you get when you rub a straw back and forth in the little hole in the middle of milky plastic coffee lids? That’s what the inside of my head feels like. A friction lightness of being with a pleasant glass harmonica sort of timbre, but not as ethereal. This might easily have something to do with the fact that I was clocked in the head rather harshly earlier or that the sun is coming up and I haven’t bothered yet with yesterdays breakfast<\/a>, but I’m not so sure. <\/p>\n I feel like music is building up under my skin, notes aggregating blast by platelet. There’s a tide pressure, flowing ebb neap out, it’s time to walk on water soon, it’s time to let the words out. It’s a new sensation, this, one I think I would be agreeable with if it weren’t for the endless cusping. If only I knew how to turn my brain off. If only I knew how to let go of the conscious thought which ties all my defenses together. <\/p>\n I sent a photograph of me when I was six off to a friend today, spur of the moment sort of thing, not with any purpose in mind but for a picture which matched the words, “some people’s children.” It struck me that that was the last year I had a chance at my own little girl firsts<\/i>. I wonder what happened to an alternate reality me, one who didn’t go to a foster home. I wonder if she strikes anyone as intelligent or if she would dress like the molded plastic mannequins downtown on a friday night, legs too thin to stand with, she must be an automaton. I can’t meet any children between five and ten without wanting to protect them. I bristle at strangers over their heads.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Till then, set aside your duress It’s a historically messy process We these mystical, magical, absurdical, works in progress And I promise you Like a late night radio waiting for the dead air to be filled The music will find you Lightning is striking all the time. Excerpt of a poem by R.C. written for … Continue reading “sparrows swoop, I’m watching dawn”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1331","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1331","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1331"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1331\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1331"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1331"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1331"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}