Complacencies of the whole some
Some times I think I'm a lot like me.
I feel myself in legs pumping down Dwight Street, arms at sides sprinting home. I feel myself lying on my roof in the sun, my body heavy with summer sun and tar warmth. I feel myself in the small of my back, tingling and taught, collecting in the center of my life breathing being. In my fingertips poised over the keys, in my lips pliable and full of the words they wait to form. In all my parts I exist completely. Replete with thought current through the snynapses of all neurons of my corps. Esprit de corps. I am a living corpse. Electric ideas animating so much clay. I am not just the figment of my imagination. I am tangible, a thing of substance animated by some moving principle, some soul. I am highly conscious of the physical, the farthest thing from a disembodied theory, a monk, somehow living on their principles. I live certified organic on fruit, vegetables, and bread.
I am embodied.
I feel myself in legs pumping down Dwight Street, arms at sides sprinting home. I feel myself lying on my roof in the sun, my body heavy with summer sun and tar warmth. I feel myself in the small of my back, tingling and taught, collecting in the center of my life breathing being. In my fingertips poised over the keys, in my lips pliable and full of the words they wait to form. In all my parts I exist completely. Replete with thought current through the snynapses of all neurons of my corps. Esprit de corps. I am a living corpse. Electric ideas animating so much clay. I am not just the figment of my imagination. I am tangible, a thing of substance animated by some moving principle, some soul. I am highly conscious of the physical, the farthest thing from a disembodied theory, a monk, somehow living on their principles. I live certified organic on fruit, vegetables, and bread.
I am embodied.
