,, In all disorder, a secret order. — Carl Jung

, ,i’m in it ,

So it’s 9a on a show day.

& I’m due to perform at the Tattooed Mom tonight in Philly.
(EXTRA EXTRA STEP RIGHT UP: | DOORS 7PM | FREE POETRY EVENT,,
hint: shameless self promotion.)

But I’m weary from standing in this grey & electric hail storm called life, immobile & slow while just next to me a warm & sunny day reigns on.

hint: a Very Bad diagnosis for our matriarch, my mama. &
spinning out of control, & laundry dishes mowing , nursing , mom , dad , being an  advocate, therapist & sister , daughter ,, having no friends & being myself ,,,,,,,

(y’know.)

You’ll have to excuse me if I seem a little out of it.
I am.

But hey, the anguish funneled itself into a monologue I’ve written, a dissociated manifesto I call “,, If only things were linear” // & I’m pretty cool with it,, Tonight I will be reading it through, with the aid of my haphazard music of course. (If you can call it that.) & I’m ,,a little excited & a lot nervous. It’s the newest thing I’ve written, so it highlights where I am now as a poet. & it’s mainly fairly (dumb) philosophical musings, with little storytelling.. & I’m not sure that will go over well. If only because it’s easy to get lost in my (dumb) contradictory & often wordy riddles, especially when they’re being read to you. The good news: I’m going to be peddling copies of the words for $1-$5 sale. The bad news: I only made 13 copies, & that should be more than enough lol.

(*)

Well, it’s time to stop writing this & go live life, go prepare for tonight & then wake up the next day & continue living. Because (unfortunately,) no matter the storm life puts you under, above the clouds the world spins madly on.

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