PoCD
sorry about recent lyrical posts. the universal stirrings are in full swank right now.just moments ago i cuddled my hoshi to sleep. there is something so allsome about a sleeping tiny person. those damned pampers adds with all sorts of babies sleeping all over the world just KILL me.
his eyes get all rolly and a couple of times he'll summon up every drop of consciousness and say "MOMMY? you doing?"
i began by wanting him to be a man, so that i could have an adult relationship with him, and any partner or friends he chooses. now i think almost everyday about tricks i can contrive to keep him from being drafted into the world war that the US will most certainly be engaged in by the time he's 16. i can feel the war encroaching, every single day. and it causes me to declare my own war. i simply will not feed my son to the machine. that's personal, and it's not. the machine doesn't need more bodies. it needs to be put out of its misery. but the last body it will get is my hosea's.
this all started after the car accident. this imagery of the western vs. eastern world invading my airspace. and i gun it down, and then it comes back, shrill, taking hostages. faith, sanity, regular bowel habits.
that's why all the poetry. nothings making much sense to me right now. i'm just trying to dig deeper for beauty before this all falls apart.
posted by hobbledog @ 2:23 PM
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