I want to write about this feeling behind my eyes--that tired, sleepy, agitated feeling which is almost worse when I close my eyes. I push and wiggle. Wiggle and push. Ebb and flow like rain to river, river to rain. I am a mountain stream which bursts its banks only once every seven years to spread fertile waters over the fields and valleys but then my energy dissipates and I sink down into the earth or flow my way into the ocean once more becoming an indistinct, unknowable part of a larger whole. I have no identity outside my banks, bends, and oxbows. I am old. Older than your parents parents. I am the branching of DNA, of chaos. I am fractal, full and the product of processes I can neither name nor describe. My life is not my own. My soul is lost in the wide waters of others' experience. It might be there--a flash of orange in the murky depths, a flash of purple breaching a wave.

I ache. I lack. I am desire lost but not regained. Never to be regained always lost always abandoned always between...liminal...without subjective or objective presence in the world/universe/otherland.

No. I am here now. Forever are these words inscribed onto my flesh. forever shall I say, "no; I am not." Forever more shall I quote the raven with fingers entangled in raven black hair streaked with stardust strands of time woven from crown to tip. Forever will I both embrace and push away the essential nature of my soul. Forever. I will fight no more forever. I will fight no more. I will surrender, bend in the lambent breeze, follow the wash of my water sign, lose myself in the random generation of personality traits which both apply and do not apply to me. I will be wild and tame myself. Tame my wandering soul. Flip the world to carnival and celebrate all that is fat with the juices of life. All that is full of its own beauty. I want to embrace, fold my legs around a strong back and pull into me the generative force of being and becoming.

I want my wrist not to hurt with the tension of writing. I want the tension in my bicept and neck/shoulder joint to be kissed and carressed into oblivion under the lips of the sacred lover. The archtype that exists only in the reflection of brown eyes.