We're going to fast.
Here are my thoughts.
I keep believing that some miraculous occurence will peel this inner layer,
lifting Saturn's thumb off of my heart, putting threads of aperture into this com-plication. It is just thoughts like that that seem to pervade. A drum beat through the weeks, Stop! I keep turning, just to catch a mirrored far-far-away mountain flare, but it is only sunset. Our Iphegenia's death only brought inland waves. Serendipity's minor music is that I can read all hopes, and fears off of kinesthesia and no sacrifice of fleshly presence will bring nature round back to correct herself yesterday. So onward Tomorrow! I must learn the elasticity of water, so that its piezoelectric language fluctuating in dear muscles does not frighten me so often.
As I drink poetic water intentionally today I think about water and reach out for words to say what I just drank in. I think about cravings blended with art and how real intelligent women can love much much more by being friends. I asked to be a greater friend to you in the sage of solstice; the fire engulfing and transmuting a paper plea, forcing air, wood, metal, and water to alter forms. Again I swallow too much that none can hold, but me. I gulp beauty of a gift I did not give, the beauty of another woman's love. I excise the whole magic spell of her which I cast, believing that every thought matters. But I cannot undo. Indestructible fabric of even all those morning thoughts, those coffee computer thoughts, those breakfast of mushrooms and toast thoughts, those last night artichoke red pepper thoughts beside you on the futon, thoughts of cocooned light surounded with emotions, and now in that blue glass of water, I can't even recede to watch her watery waterness. I am water drinking. She is prolifically interstitial, she is a woman who loves you, and she is very good at it. She doesn't even have to build walls to create closeness. She is gifts, she is distance. She is very good at it. I finished the water in the glass and set it on the glass table. It clinks. I called you just to hear your thoughts. You didn't have any because you were asleep in your class room. I decided to wait to say what was in my mind until I had thought about it. How long does water take to run through? And where does water stop? And why? A rainy season distorting the potential calligraphy of a patter into a flow. There is a drowned thing waiting to hear sounds on the surface.
So there will be a fast
Water for three days. LIght juices to follow. Then I will drink the lemonade for seven days. How will that not be "hallucinogenic" to quote the article Pim showed me last night. Apparently I am not the only one who is altered in mind when altering my body. On the third day of the last fast, Nicole, reading from her wheelchair, became a small fairy deity locked inside a casing like a cartoon villain's trap. She spoke words of unlocking the power of children and I saw with wide acid eyes, her beauty.
To prepare, I think, is to ask well ahead of time about the matters. Lemon juice is easy. Stark sunlight approaching mercury eclipsing the sun is a fact. More than easy,physical fact; I want to burn off the husk of this trouble to see it for what it is, and to review again, what I chose to take in, and what I chose to effuse.
Three glasses of water
Love,
Emily
