situationalities radicalities pretentionalities and anthropophagies for the next 44 years

More and more often, she's been talking about these things and their weight, and their specifics and details that need her constant attention, and the way there is sometimes nothing to fight against any more because it's all a fight; all of these things spoken of, more and more often, in relation to the idea of escape.  This day is a day that begins with a morning that starts earlier than I had suspected, waking up from dreams where my friend is in a dining room sitting at a table with the dead, and she can't leave yet because they are talking about something very important, or about to have that talk.  And waking up to take care of a daughter to get her out of bed to go take care of a teenager before going to take a mother to a doctor to get something spinal taken care of (it's ongoing taking care of, being something that has the potential or the threat of becoming ongoing for a long possibly long time potentially), oh this is a very long sentence (and about to get longer); although I still remember what it is about, and I hope you do, too;  //though it's not even really a sentence any more it's just made up punctuation to avoid a period (wait)...it feels heavier for me, too, suddenly, and I don't want to start talking about things and their weight.  Because I can see where that leads.  And today I feel like the world's mother.

Or something very much like that in some very radically reduced way.  The situation is this:  when someone is called or grabbed to crown with Yemaya as their mother, there are rituals to be done.  There are some rituals in it that are somewhat similar to other rituals for, say, for example, Obatala or Oya, for example, but then differences. and it's secret but it's written down but it's still secret so I won't write it here, but the secrets, well, there are secrets that are not written down either, but when we talk about secrets, haha haha, is it to tempt those who don't know into finding out the secrets, aha aha, or is it something much more elemental than that hum hum hum.   After the ritual where the Orisha is married to the head (to use a metaphor that is useful for so many things except it creates more problems than it is perhaps worth, like making alchemy heteronormative, oh there are too many tangents here; note to self, please investigate why heteronormative is not a word as far as my screen is concerned; Obatala neither, but that makes some more sense really, oh enough with this), many of the practitioners, the santer@s and devotees alike, will disband and carry on with their lives of working and loving and working some more because money is no object to be trifled with these days and we need more of that because it's running out so quickly...but some, for example, might feel a very powerful shift from raising Yemaya like this, and feel like moving things, like moving, like shifting things, like shifting, for a long time afterwards, and even become a little energized by the mother of us all, enough to maybe one morning wake up too early and feel like the mother of the world.

A bit.  But the idea of escape is more essential here, and Yemaya can be escape just as much as she can be part of a union, remembering however that this is the one who could not stay married to Orisha Oko, the earth, because they eat each other as fiercely as they love each other.  (Is that even important to mention, then, because it might fit in some way but is usually, just saying, just a way of trying to explain away why all these other things that seemed so interesting just went away...?? and another chance, another excuse, really, to mention how he still loves her, and he is me apparently, but her that is another question, let's just say it's one of two, and even more importantly here, and tellingly so, complicatingly so, not even one of two, but two of two all at once, that he still loves her, but she is not just one her and that's not so original these days, but certainly certainly so very avant garde, quaqua quaqua...or perhaps it's just usual.  But don't tell me that.  Usual makes me do very funny things.  Like remember conversations that take place up against the bar of a kitchen, whatever is the name for that counter thing, when roommates were asleep or gone somewhere and there was just us and a dog who spoke to us so clearly and told us what we were supposed to be, but the dog also spoke to us with his face too close to us, and we are both so very defiant that we decided to leave what we were supposed to be for another, what week month life.  We don't know.  And we still don't know.  Oh but that's very specific, that could only be one, only one and not two, there was only one and that one was only you, and you might not know why it was you, and I don't know why it was you and I don't know why it was me either, but I'm glad it was both of them because otherwise I would not know you, and that makes me better, turns the lines closer to you thicker and the ones further away thinner, and that is why today I am taking off my clothes in front of your sister.  Tada, tada.

To sum up, then, so that we're all clear here.  These are difficult things, these health things, all so very difficult, and when everyone starts to look manic-depressive or bipolar or in a complicated polarity situation, or falling from nerves or diseases that I wish did not have names, it is interesting to sit in a restaurant when she is taking one percocet, then another, and then I ask if she has enough for the rest of the day, because I like to think of others of course, especially when I can think of them and their narcotics, and say how she doesn't need another for awhile, because that's the dose for 4 hours or so, and she says she does not think about these kinds of things, but takes them as she needs them, and I recognize the bloody flames in her eyes that tell me we're related, especially in this, and I say, That's what I do, too, and that's because I'm a borderline junkie.

Kisskiss the end.

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