[This one had a different quality to its receipt. More like an internal dictation dia~monologue. I’m not sure how exactly to describe it. Perhaps that is a gift. As we see — description is trouble. Or can be. My license seems to grow as I develop. Is this not the case with all things? Be wary, I say. And then withdraw it. Or maybe leave it as is. Yes, some things do grow hazy with age. That would feel like a gift were it not disturbing. The disturbance too is a gift. Yes, yes, I get it. What am I saying? I suppose I am saying: we do our best to move, in the way we can, as we are able. Humans cannot step further than they can step. The amount of distance moved is under some other jurisdiction~ ] Received 8/19/2025 | 7:31-44pm
Companion Missive #8 - DREAM: TREASURE WORLD (3/10/2023)
Listen to the Recitation:
SCRIPTED STRIFE
I lose my mind to find it
Worthless without my suffering
Good god this story is a bore—
Accurate descriptions become prescriptions
So I tell myself, watch what you accept
Lest the present become
Everything that can be, cloying
All possible departure from what cannot be
Left — wait, this is not right: try again
To describe without attachment
It is madness — how can you?
Try again: the field withers
Wildflowers wilt in the hot dry stretch
Expanse before you and me, here
Rye and uncanny, long sheaf with long antennae
Lynx-eared tufts turned at the slightest
Escape the cycle — there is no escape
Go into it — there is no change
Get through it — there is nothing to move through
I pause, bite my lower lip, furrow my brow
Am I amused or irritated? Both
Neither. I become belligerent
Ecstatic fumes of disdain, the clouds cover
The sun and stars mask
A simple pleasure at their going, only to return
My mind — a glint
Returns to me, as if it had left
And I, a fool again, am none the wiser
