#bodiliness

the girl, she's sick. she's in love with herself. she eats girl meats and runs barefoot in the rain.  she props her eyeballs open bloody and scans texts like a talmudist, seeking to unlock something pry it loose from the page

she hates words like she hates bodiliness.  concepts are creation, but soon aborted and sucked out with shwathunk into being, forced into the shape of the words that have taken them over.

 she can't get at the thing itself. watches others try, gets excited, goes mad again, comes back.  blames her meds.  

reads beckett (again) lispector (again) djuana barnes, kozinski, blanchot.  pierces body parts with stolen needles or burns her hand on purpose on accident.

 reads house of leaves infinite jest invisible monsters. gets too close the thing itself, runs away screaming to safety nest of routine and academia.  tired of herself.  tired of the body, the words, her eyes are tired.