the grocery store has some strange kind of chewy, thick-leaved green lettuce with pretty white spines. it tastes refreshingly bitter, but not too bitter. so i tested flavours to make the right dressing for it—coconut milk, seasoned Japanese rice vinegar, lime juice, walnut oil, minced Russian Tarragon—and mixed the lettuce with fat slices of english cucumber and grated sweet white onion.

then i fell asleep, and was on a hillside, like a graveyard but instead of graves there were sculptures by Camille Claudelle. they were quite beautiful but the hair on the skin bothered me; the skin was marble smooth and penetratingly glossy, but she had stuck this flowing dread hair on it. i should have enjoyed the torque between the textures of the skin and the hair, but i only wanted to focus on the skin, so the hair annoyed me. it was not silky human hair, but gobby clay hair.

interestingly, for viewing sculptures, large silver exercise balls had been placed around the hillside, interspersed among trees. i think the idea was to balance on the exercise ball and be aware of balance within bodies while gazing at the sculptures. i imagined that Jay, another schizophrenic artist, appeared there smiling slowly in spirit but he was not actually there, since he was taking Olanzapine, a drug for schizophrenia which diminishes vision and instills stupor, which i used to take but no longer do.

then i woke up, and was surrounded by people hired by my first real boyfriend, who is a problematic image in that he is probably a delusion, and he left me in a quagmire of conflicted interests and trauma-induced anesia. now he is back, but i can't see him and do not know he is there. his people are nice, but i do not let them know i am me because i do not know how to talk to people if no-one tells me what language they speak, or that they are mine. i am trying to learn telepathy, since this is the only way to talk with them, but this may not work.

then i woke up, and felt mossy teeth and put on my glasses which tend to abstract me from my body, by putting frames around my vision. wearing glasses is training for using a camera lens, since it makes borders around what is seen. i do not like this, since i like to feel the edges of space, like a cat, and have them guide and place my idea of where my body is.

i must brush my teeth and drink some green tea, in a brown glass, not my usualy pretty globular clear glass with flowers and polka dots painted on it with paint, but a plain, transparent, heavy brown water glass, which will make me feel solid enough to drive. (i will probably cheat and use the pretty girly glass anyway).

RedFeather, by

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