Nerves of steely heels

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The weather has been warmer this week, although winter is nearing closer. I cast my mind back to the sweltering of Rarotonga…that was a time in my life I shall probably not forget, mostly because I did not enjoy being there at all.

The hostility of love when neither partner can fathom feelings, let them go and simply enjoy the surrounds. I can’t go back and change things though…maybe it’s all history forever.

I’d like to think not.

I’m fretting a little as a ready myself for a nighttime cigarette before an early night. I’ll be getting up early before the camera crew and interviewer arrive. Luckily I know the person interviewing me.

I’m a bit scared about opening up to a faceless audience, revealing my traumas. When I commit to talk story as research it’s always powerful. I definitely know my shit and I have aeons of ancestors within my throat, they can be heard in the resonance which bewitches. I lull minds to awaken with my talk-story voice…it’s ancient and lyrical.

But still, it’s me…people will watch their TVs and through the feature, people will know how fallable I am. I need to keep reminding myself I came back from the dead and have rewoven myself, and that’s a transformative tale to uplift others.

Sleep, sing songs of echoed anachronisms, like lullabys of words forgotten and out of their use by dates. Fates collide in the stillness of a body that sways between states.

Maketh me through mimicry, pretend my heart still beats, neatly folded away within layers of forgetting. The sun it rises and falls so slowly. I tamed it to give myself time to shine.

It’s all mine, a minefield of yielding but never stopping, bending but never ending. Begin again and again and again.