Issue 7, Winter/Spring 2009

fermentation #12, by Meghan McNealy

some familiarity in the new adjustment of the furniture: does a better flow of energy throughout the room by way of opening spaces, pulling out of the corners seem like you may have been here before because it seems like this is the way it was meant to be?      in this waning moon, i cannot help but pull truths out of saliva and scabs.   {there is nothing alive here, nothing to live for, very little to love}.    for once a friend asks me to tell a story i have told a thousand times, and she wants to hear it the very same way it has always been told.   what makes it appropriate?   now that the creatures of my dreams are appearing in spaces where my energy has flowed before, and they are slurping up what they can, eating that energy with gusto, guts and all.  now to talk about that dream means to apply past truths to present predicaments.   now to dream future predicaments, to see past environmental synopses, hell, and other possible invasions.     we have much to talk about {and we always will}.   put elements in order and some reaction will occur.   put occurrences in order and some elements will react.   this is a pattern, this is a pattern, this is a horrible pattern.  internal plastics make symbols therefore logic.    see “pizza” and “animal skull” make connection of environment plus sentiment minus self.    i observe and therefore language.  observe those of us with marks under the eye atop the bump of cheek.   what i understand i am not understanding.   round eyes watch.  fire and destruction: when i fell asleep i heard them ask “why throw a torch at a fire?”   now i am preparing for something else and thinking that this preparation of the mind for the experience of the body is a fire worth reviving.    the town has become much witchier.    i laugh when she says, “but maybe i am just getting witchier.”     moving into witchier, casting spells, incantations, rituals, potions, vials, bones, warts, brooms, hats, chickens, lizards, cauldrons, you mean to say you are sensing the presence of a witch inside you?    and now, the philosophical essence of these rituals, are you of an inherent use to yourself, or do your charms possess a value of exchange?    this, that, other vibration, moving back and forth, exchange of the use.    he says through a barrier of smoke that the aesthetic can never reconcile the philosophy.     and how: the aesthetic of philosophy.    those hats they seems to wear.    and beards.    the movement of the arms with hands dangling from the ends in the wispy integration of seeing and feeling, observing and experiencing.       i say that the love letter is the first piece of writing that ever existed to me outside of a self-denying furnace.    a burning of intentions to relocate the self outside the ore of the work.     this cannot be, i hear myself say.    “this cannot be.”    and so, one learns a language from the truths of saliva and scabs.   how long have i been here?