right now is as good a time as ever

what are you waiting for?

the entire gumult of words, floundering sentences & indefinite plots- every distraction is an excuse. a stall. what do you need?

life happens in the plot. not in the bit. there's no gaps between the brief moments you feel alive. you're always alive. you're either listening to your body or you're not.

watch the feeling move through you, twist your nerves, look at its yearning, its pleading whisper, the coiled serpent, the tension in your lonely innards- you know the story even if you know nothing else.

at a very young age, we learn that we are free. & if we are free, we are also free to look away. my mother doesn't like to see her boy cry, so she is glad he can look away. he cuts away from the feeling. until he finds the last scene of call me by your name. & he watches, with the camera, as a cornered timothee chalamet sits with the pain. the tears know the way.

every part of your body you've locked yourself out of becomes a phantom limb. a severed organ twitching on the side of the road after the accident.

this isn't repackaged individualism- the revolution just needs you to show up wearing your whole body. happy fucking pride.

the scars are a map of where they'll cut our children again. the rage is direction. we're going to look at them with our whole gaze. we'll say “here. this is what i see.” we’ll hold up a mirror & we’ll do the work always.

& we aren't afraid of heartbreak. we're going home.