aches, sprains, and strains

Oh, Limbic System, R-Complex, gleeful and cheery
insurmountable vengeances, issue'd, dissolv'd. Retold.
Innumerably many pardons and reprieves sift and zither and are lost in the
waves of doldrums and cavitation. Cetecean barks and whistles squirrelled
away, lost in the bromine-swerve of the ocean.

Subconscious:oh, you tell a confus'd tale: this valence contradicts that, 
while contradicting another completely differently. How am I to be an 
honest actor when my relationship with you is so frothy. One set of
dreams imply a thing, feel like custard greens and collard pies on the
edge of a picnic on a lanky summer afternoon, another ache gray
obscurity, mucilaginous, baked, dried into the broken voronoi
patterns of dried tempera paint of middle school art class. And then
I meander to interact with whom your immisciblant squealing demands
decoding into proper semantic valences, and I cannot construct those
functorial equivalences in any reasonable way, they march through
the skirmishes of my already contradictory mind armed with 
Fenospoi Corporation Grade-AA+ ambiguators, releasing yottajoules
of feels whose architecture is comprised of ultrastructural uninterpretability
and ambiguity and amphicontraconceptuals impelling deficits of concord. 

Signature, butterfly, butterfly, butterflies, reading birdsong, constantly
mutating text beginning with "besides", dream-image...
, tangential shoulder massage, and now drifting
away into blurriness, not seeing, looking at a different depth. A few nights ago
while meandering for victuals a confused person asked "who broke your..." in
the midst of the usual speech of confused people, SUV drivers being cinema
celebrities and whatnot. Retain? Remain? Paraphrase? Phenolphthalein? 
To what extent and topology is this Lethe-array an actual communcation, and
to what extent is it the folly of the synapses? To wit, drifting into wan pan-trapezoidal
pallor and unclear internal unsublimated perfidities, for which, oh to be direct? How do I disentangle the machinery of the Subconscience, which I don't trust, with that of any
forestalled reasonableness of actual interaction. (of which I claim to possess none, but that is another
story).


Thence:

Finally leavened seventh: Entanglements remain. Woof and warp and weft woven and weaves interlaced, stitched, crocheted, like textiles yarned and skeined, hope for the future? Uncertainty prevails: my emotions I don't trust and I'd rather offer clarity rather than whorls of indecision baked in mustard pies and sold for a pittance at the side of the Tenseoreo river five minutes to Yestertuesday. Can't hold on, but the fabric won't let us go. Some filaments of that are just going to tug at heartstrings, either way. I prefer to ask framing questions: "how are you? how are things in your context? is there anything I can do to help?" because they tend to devolatilze and detension those cardiac connections. Direct and cryptic are second cousins at best. [there are linguistics books in the box dropped on the floor labeled 蝶兵器 -- I presume you saw them?]

First and Frist and Grist the gleaning yolks say/suggest "self censor less!", of which I occasionally
must recall. Conversations are hard (and I prefer them soft, round-cornered, and bedecked with grinning armadillos) when every second word (I exaggerate) vaporizes with
millikelvin changes of conceptual stance.

Seventy-eighth: It's fair to say I feel like week old cheddar and brocolli soup at present. I could bathe my brain in ibuprofen for want of a spinnaker, or a trip to Dorset, or Primrose Hill in London. Nursing the self and self-care are the order of the hour, then, for which, oh for which know whatever contentious ill-will which may be harbored by parts of me I have less sway over, I deratify and reject. For as much as I do desire a 'don't let go' hither and thither, and must make do with the
Buddhist overtones, the purely electromagnetic particles and force interaction always is too weak for me, I prefer the strong force, of quarks and gluons. So, inasmuch as I can request, do remain in whatever capacity or name entreats us both greatest and most harmonious concord, and provides ailerons for ascending that Low-Mass hierarchy, seasoned by basil and hygge and without obligations or demands on time or energy allocation.