They Don’t Want Us to Feel

The mind’s wet paint. Your ears tingle with knowing. Your scalp—it comes alive. The transfer is complete.

It is safe to be seen. I feel you. They don’t want us to feel. I feel seen.

QUIZ:

Where you goin’ with all that [delete overused word]?

What have we made?

Who do you make with?

Why? Why do you make?

Have you made a country? Or its absence?

What has made you? Not who.

I once told a friend: Allow yourself to be homesick and to grieve for all your other selves. I keep trying to be artful about saying: TELL PEOPLE WHAT THEY NEED NOT WANT TO HEAR

I am not yelling.

Draw something here:

Feel free.

A sensation. Another transfer is complete. You are degenerating.

The best criticism is a question.

It asks you to return to the universe of yourself.