We live our lives just like this:
Like the way we sleep on the floor altogether and it seems like we’ve done this forever,
Like the way we clean every week and we don’t get to relax even if we are tired if we don’t clean every week,
Like the way we use the toilet and flush every 6th,
Like the way the fireflies and grasshoppers find use every time we move,
Like the way we use and re-use rubber bands because we can’t quite breakup with them,
Like the we watch the gentle opossum in the early-early morning end its day on our fair spoiled meats and garlic paper,
Like the way we use nightlights as main lights and main lights as special occasional lights and we don’t have more than one on at any given time,
Like the way we eat what we want without a notion for time and space and menu-type,
Like they way we have orgasms for breakfast and an omelet for dinner!
Our lives, no one else’s, are our stories that we live and retell.
Our lives, no one else’s is a string of thoughts and feelings and notions and misgivings and unique like how unique is not unique.
Our lives, balloon ups and zipper down blankets doused in body oil. The stairway that bathes in our spices of day to day. The mold in the basement. The cigarette used leather club chair. The Truck. (It’ll never die.) The photos and photos and what are we going to do with all these photos. The stuff, all the stuff, the donated stuff, the new stuff, the old stuff we bought that was donated. The old stuff that’s new and the new stuff that’s already old. So many laughs. That scream I screamed into the bathroom that time that I didn’t think anyone could hear. That bad time. But then all the better times. The way we evolve to save seed instead of art glass. To move plants instead of modern furniture. To wake up every morning and kiss and hugs and ask what are we eating today?
What are we eating today?
Our manic lives, our sleepless lives. Our sleepy lives. Like no one else’s but like everyone’s.
I hear stories everyday of other lives.
They have their lives.
And we have our lives.
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