in an effort to be mature, we cast our round table cloth over our rectangular table and placed our tulip fruit dish filled with unripe pears in the center. it is a fascinating monstrosity of coral and oxygenated dried blood.
bro came over last night. he said he wanted to see mom when she came down last weekend, but he just said it was too much. and i thought i was the only one who had issues with lamely articulated anxiety.
i am afraid that having grown up (mostly), i have grown out of the what i used to love. i recall fondly, but fail to live it again. i've become lazy and settled. i disgust myself.
i like the word: forbidden.
what can i do to make myself more me? or, how do i reshape myself in my own image?
my mind returns pretty regularly to the intro of being & time. i could be ready to quit my scoffing and guffawing and finally read on. i think of mr farin and kilani, mr bartok. i miss my imagined giants of intellectualism, unforgiving in understanding. i remember, and i remember how conflicted i am about everything.