Some mornings I’ve no idea what I’m going to write about. A blank sheet. That’s what I went to bed with last night and woke up with this morning. Nothing, except the image of a pain body being winched from a basement and who wants to write about that? Not me. The parts and allies floated up into the great blue yonder as the walls of the house fell smack to the ground like a Buster Keaton sketch, and they hover, now, in glorious, funny blue line, they are waving goodbye. Goodbye? I think, but how can that be? They are me. And I don’t like it, but the rules of this game are such, these are not stories to be orchestrated, they are to be watched unfold. That’s what I’ve done since the beginning, since the very first time I found myself in the swimming pool in France where I spent the happiest childish suspended hours balled up, knees to chest, turning with the water and saw turning with me the red, knees to chest sinews of my pain body. I remember, and somewhere in these diaries is the story, how it looked like a filter that hadn’t been changed, how it was a William Blake drawing in the detail of muscle and elongated leg, how it had its arms around its knees like me, and I remember the overwhelming feeling of love for what it had done. Since then, we’ve been through Gremlin to teenager in high-windowed cell, white nothings to the dream of a house attached to mine where absence was described in beige, to a sunken room that began in pitch black and became filled with my parts and allies and a door, ornate, that one day we went through. We’ve returned to the tall, cold house and found blockage and cleared it and watched blood pour down basement steps and a silver woman emerge. We’ve seen them all rise. But goodbye? And then that damned image I woke with this morning, the pain body winched, more blood dripping, have we not had enough by now? What is the darkness of my mind, the hidden corners from where this must be wrenched? But I know. I’ve done the work and I’ve seen. And the rescue goes on. And my parts and allies float into the great blue yonder, and I see them hover in a line, they are waving merrily and laughing.
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I love the way you finish this. That's quite a sentence!
Busta move