wrote one side of morning pages left handed today, crab scuttle etching… a curious process, feeling that this my alien hand doesn’t belong to ‘me’… to escher mbe?
you can almost sense the grapple battle for control twixt ego and whom? mute, secret sharer
a twitch, when the ‘usual I’ has the upper hand, it falls apart, hand wrench arches in the wrong direction… d’oh bother blather
but allow the process and a curious hypnotic rhythmic flow begins… automatic, we know what to do
…and the words, are they any different? dunno, can’t read the illegible ink blot scrawl
looking out the window, world appears shimmering, the background to a tarot card, a slight slippage? mythic realm ever at our elbow
da vinci the invincible
anyway summon daughter from her slumbers, admire the red glow of rolled plasticine clouds.. sizzle mushrooms, pepper, tomatoes, garlic
what are words on the page anyway? tongue convolutions to not make a sound, words that crave connection, synapse fire flare, ink deluge
i’ve typed all this left handed, sense adandonned, suspect i’m incorrigible bored, ha, doncha know
