I cling to myself

I cling to myself, the flesh to the muscles, the muscles to the bones, the bones to the organs, the organs to the infinite interior. I cling to myself as if I had a vacuum cleaner inside that sucks all the contents down to the depths, sometimes black, sometimes the color of gold where there is no turning back, where there is no extension outward only to reflect my own in the other. 

I embed myself in the skin that sometimes hates me, that becomes slippery for all relationships that no longer have more thread to intertwine; Ancestral affection slips in front of my nose that in the now cannot hold hands, cannot travel the world together because the roads have forked. I refuse to go backwards, I refuse to catch fire to articulate with theater and pretense a language that is no longer mine. I refuse to write simpler words for those who have never been able or wanted to understand me to understand me; I refuse to give explanations that sound logical to convince the conventional world that I belong to normality. I refuse to detach myself from myself in search of another who has never been there.

I fit into myself, there are many "me" there are many “I”.  I know. It is only from this narrative where I can live and have a smoothie with the "me", and "I" that are yours, if you make them yours, if you stick to yourself and your bones.

There are a mountain of distractions for not doing it, there are a million excuses, I want to see more posts of delicious recipes that I never eat, I want to see what they are doing, where they are traveling and what the thousand of "friends" I have on Facebook are thinking, I want to stalk someone but I forgot who and I want to remember him only because I need to evade myself, because hitting my muscles hurts, it hurts because it isolates. Am I going too far? Am I going too far inside? No anesthesia, no sugar, no coffee, no gluten, hydrogenated fat or alcohol, no drugs of any kind, no doctor or shaman.

         I want a donut and then I go inside, I want a whiskey and then I seclude myself, I want more time to lose on the internet before seeing relationships that do not contribute, that rather hinder, that cause a tremendous swelling to my body and my senses.

        What I really want is to eat a donut and stop being so intense. How much I would love it, it would be so much easier to camp in a cloud of ignorance than to be with my antennas so erect that I cannot let go of myself, that I no longer find the way that the state of consciousness rewinds backwards.

        I will satisfy the craving of a donut full of sugar and carbohydrates, full of oils that offend all the good I eat; a donut that has the power to inflame me to belong, but not this time; I will chew a mass of hydrogenated fat while I stick to myself, the meat to the muscles, the muscles to the bones, the bones to the organs, the organs to the infinite interior. And whoever wants to share this muddy donut of all of me, welcome, and whoever doesn't, because there is a lot of fat, vegetable and body, that is slipping out of me.