*sounds of a waterfall miles away*;

May 2025 (♉︎)

[4  minute read]

i like getting really high

to ignore the plot

but i often find myself in moments where the plot seems to hold me,

or stare back

as if in intermission—lunch break at the Truman show.

there’s a long pause that encourages conversation but i get so high by myself

only sounds outside of me fill the space

i know we talk about the male gaze

but when i get so high i perform for the inanimate objects’ gaze

i always want to be considered

i objectify myself to derive from that viewpoint some use—

i ask around:

the pen on my desk, the hairball in the corner; “do i slip your mind?

do u see me how i see you? i only remember you when my eye connects to your matter.”

but it’s different when it connects to others tissue

like my beating heart recognizes theres

i’ll never forget another human remembering me

our blood flows continuously almost like we are walking living rivers

& i return to rivers constantly, i like their habitual noise

i do this all subconsciously while sober. confused as to why i fall into certain places

but when i'm high, it's like the microplastics in my mind question recognize the plastics in my room.

their stasis embalms me

their inaction recognizes a belonging with intention

in my stuckness, my eyes scan the audience of clutter as if  we’re in a colosseum

i address them as if we are all starring in Gladiator,

“i lay as still as you,” i whisper to the objects,

“i hide as bad as you. and i only exist when others needs are objective.”

and i call this all a home anyways, i’m invincible to the dissonance,

to missing something but craving someone

though i rent this life, i bought this sharpener, what really belongs to me?

i write these words, i make those paintings but the art is always a love letter to human consciousness

a nod to history

a wink to the passing of time

it was never mine to begin with,

it’s shared and borrowed love.

so in my graciousness, i think i was born to ponder you

to see you in everything and get so high i wish it were different

i don’t need the drugs but they help me return to the sounds of life outside of me that help me understand the sounds internally

i become one with the nothing. i think i can feel your a presence here.

i like getting really high and staying so horizontal low

because it’s like thinking about me & returning to the water source

because it’s like thinking about me which indefinitely returns me to the water source

& the water holds memory here,

takes shape when i’m not looking and grabs my arm

caressing me towards total submersion

we call this point of contact a daydream

directionless aims towards an abundance that exudes safety

every return i look for that slight semblance of life

the water source can be so parallel, its stillness is like a returning to home

i remember,

i was there,

attendance was taken and i called out embarrassingly withmy palms out,

i couldn’t hide

getting lulled towards the waterhole,

maybe i seek a sirens touch.

do you hear that sound?

[sound of a river or waterfall in motion]