senakirfa A.
this liminality here justifies the flood, and i’m tired of outsmarting myself
(wedded in scopic land(scapes), sour(ed) sails, eerie currents, amsterdam)
lately, (or, actually, ever since, preceding, lately) i feel encapsulated by something that gravitates between doubt, and another sentiment that i fail to name — this other sentiment could be explained as an internal upheaval of sorts, maybe a growing agony or apathy, maybe neither, maybe if maybe could become a sentiment, that would cover the load of this ever-growing upheaval. it’s vague, however, it’s a start. naming and describing, describing and naming, — knowing, but mostly feeling, feeling but mostly knowing,
as someone who grew up amid differentiating peculiarities, i feel delineated, kinda like an embodied spectator(ship), as if i walk on water, though the water ain’t wet, the water has become glass, occurring limpid and liminal at the same time. maybe this is what fuels my doubt, that i’m bound to the symbolization yet mystification of a double-sided coin, forever connected to …, yet not acknowledged (by).
i want to grab this existence (here), and what it has to offer (which is l.o.v.e.*) with both of my hands, though, these hands (my hands), can’t bear this mystification. these fingertips have ought to carry the wind, these palms have ought to pinch the flesh, ought to bear grace, ought to, be, be, be, be,
come
*
splitting channels #4892.1
