i am moving in the sudden blur and upward humming missing sound of everything coming so quietly fast slow together, too quick to imagine how it might happen, too quick to see the lines of things. i am meeting at desks and through windows and my life is partitioned by time and the instant where i am lying down, and there is the propulsion of fingers, the lifting of feet unshod and heavy, the thump of limbs as they hit the floor, my feet on mike's as we dance around the loungeroom. the heavy constant of rain, the heavy drift of fog, the way headlights open up only the tiniest particle of space for distance, the way running is a prediction then, the way fingers make a rhythm across the sheet of a guitar. the way my bed is just a part of the floor, the way that is a return to things, the way i am remembering who i am and that i am lonely. the way these muscles return to themselves, the way i return to them also, the way i am weighted with things i do not want to say, with peoples' reactions to them. and it should all just be okay, we should all be, and everything between us, caught in the three inches of space between eyes and eyes, between the met yellow square pink worlds that we might lay claim to, the little tiny pieces of things we think of as our own. it is all changing, at times, this time, all the time, so that the constant is that, and i am the constant, and i am unclear. and there are bars in paris that i might want to visit, and staircases that i might want to climb and the decision to jump through worlds and windows that are not open to me, and might never have been. and i am beginning to wonder about everything, about the path to things that i thought i had been over, about the place i thought i might just sit down in, that comfortable one, over there. the place i am sitting in right now. we are only this and that, the little flotsam and jetsam that the world coughs up because it cannot contain it anymore, the leftover things, the little bucket that contains us. i am going to berlin on tuesday. and then madrid. and in these places i will see people i have not see for a length of time, and i will laugh with them. but maybe the place i might want most to be is laying back, head down, in hyde park, smelling the smells that summer makes, tasting the strength and the shape of the day, the levels of yellow through the leaves. the earthen heaviness to the ground beneath me and upwards, the open stretched out stretch of sky, the way it is everything.