Images were falling out of the ceiling.
The room was smaller than my mind.
So I needed to go.
And all the images that I had carried with me became meaningless.
Placeless.
I couldn’t find a place for them. I carry them in boxes now.
One bag of clothes, two boxes of images,
a computer and a djiridoo.
The bougenvilla house had spaceships and
Many many armies of differnt kinds.
Mushrooms every morning.
The queens out in the front.
Very dangerous wasps.
Dangerous people said. But the wasps never cared.
But not when I first came in.
Not at all. There was nothing before.
We grew together.
The house and me.
I ate my house and it ate me.
What is a house?
Once you are inside
You stop existing just within your body
The house becomes the body
And the mind is within the body at home
You are inside your own mind now
that is the thing anyway - the more we live in it - the more it becomes us - and we become it.
When you are alone, inside your home, inside your mind,
Anything happens all the time
What they call thoughts
Everything spills in and out of us.
Its all over the place. Spread out.
We clean it. We clean our mind.
Sometimes we learn to live inside our mind.
like
While travelling. While being in jail.
While being in hostels. Or Sharing rooms.
Nothing outside. Sterile.
Everything contained.
But then it spills out all the time. Carefully inside the boundaries of notebooks.
It spills, it is contained, and we keep keeping it.
Alongside is the passing of time
Outside the house, time is a narrow path
ticking past at the edge of the hand
Balancing the acts of conversation and being
Tightrope till we reach home
go back inside.
Be all spilled out
And then time need not be a narrow path.
Time is all over the place.
Nothign is fixed if one is truely at home.
The limits of what is fixed have nothing to do with the outside. mostly.
i just need some space.
and time.
Though
sometimes I feel lost
when there is a lot of time around me.
Had I been born in a tribe
Time would have been different.
I have no home now.
sometimes I find it.
for short bursts of time
on a bit of land.
and I sit there under the sun
imagining gravitational waves passing right through me
the thing that truely excites me
is being the shrodinger's cat
Is anybody home?
