mousparreau (elysiarenee) wrote,
mousparreau
elysiarenee

Eating mail

Summer melts and alters the feeling of everything.
One night of fan and it feels like the country has flipped over and become that other place. Different memories click into relevance.

Social intelligence is knowing the right times to say certain things the best ways to say them. When you know the rules you can break them with finesse. Sometimes I think I have it because I'm cringing at someone else but usually I can't keep up. Often my impulses take over, impulses and accidents. My unconscious is never satisfied to let something written go undelivered, something thought passionately go unsaid. This get's me in a bushel of trouble sometimes.

mail snails
I let the snails eat my mail. I'm obsessed with the paper that results. I want to make art from them but they are already.
snail mail

I am trying to befriend my body so it becomes like my cat's: strong, flexible and balanced. I want to climb trees and jungle gyms with gleeful aptitude. Want to be able to do a thing? Do it over and over, pushing your boundaries out. That's how you make your own body, this being moving thing, by moving and being aspirationally. The same for the mind I suppose but that's not getting sorted out yet.
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