decisions, incisions

february came and went, march was long and full of too many birthdays but eventually did the same. here, i lost a friend, and then another one still, and another one remained so far removed that i couldn't care with much of me. others came back from out of the rainy blue to my surprise and to further that sense i entertained their ideas only to watch them slip back into the nothingness where they should stay. towards the beginning of march i clarified myself to a greater extent with others still who reached out grabbing for something but who were scared to receive the full meaning... the whole / full / moon / the big / blue / ball / the / huge / open / self... and after receiving my return messages could do nothing much with the information save roll it up and smoke its meaning into useless marijuana smoke while staring out the window onto some grand avenue not thinking of me at all, but rather of things that might end easier, or that might just end. i do not end easy. i do not serve as tunnel, highway, vehicle, through way, i am not your via, ni vista, ni punto, ni puta. all of it is fine. everything becomes clearer as we get older...i figure when we know it all we die. when we know everything there is to know, we implode. like with this earth, we approach and attempt at understanding and at that point the cousin of that russian meteor busts this shit open and on the dawn of our global reckoning it all flashes by and we get it and that is it. so i guess i try and understand nothing because the story is already writing itself - like that photo i took of myself pressing into the tip of a knife -  you don't need to write it at all, it is already riding on. now i breathe deep, i walk slow. in march i also spent some time worrying about how to write a piece about a beautiful human i know in san francisco. i did him justice, of this i'm sure. of his bright, light voice calling me on my birthday, i am also sure. in the chaos of my 6th new york move, i threw out half my belongings - now i have only 9 boxes to call my own, 85 pairs of underwear, 2 cameras, 15 jackets, 13 lipsticks, 349 pieces of unorganized papers and envelopes, 6 books, because i cannot yet commit to a fucking bookshelf, or a home, or a job, or a dream, or a plan. and of the others, in march, some continued on without awareness, others opened up like only old friends can, others opened up like i always hoped they would, others got shy, others proved me wrong, others maintained their weight in my chest, they are gold and lapiz, gold and lapiz forever. i continued to recognize patterns of situations i had been in before, some 10 years prior, and i said i could not be that. some took an interest in me for silly reasons, like territory. some let it go, some watched me out of the corners of their eyes, some included me, some i excluded. it is flotsam and jetsam, out here... and then april, forever the cruelest month, forever uninspiring, forever coded, forever the hardest beginning, forever the roughest transition, april opened up on the 5th and once again bore aries horns into my side without even a half-block head start. april met me on the operating table under men in masks in a neon-lighted room saying "don't worry hon, we're gonna take good care of you," and i wanted to marry them all, but my hair was matted and my eyelids couldn't stop spilling over with tears. we die alone; it was so clear! i took 3 deep breaths of whatever gets you to heaven and woke up hard two and a half hours later, eyelids fluttering in the basement of a hospital trying to emerge from a dreamless, blank sleep because spring had begun without me outside, and because i was now apparently free from everything that had been hurting, prior, free from that faulty gut that had misinformed and mislead me year after year. these incisions were someone else's decision, as if to say i was both responsible for - but - only leasing my body.
i am up for grabs, i am grabbing it all. fuck april, but thank you, my loves, for the flowers.
they are on my window sill, looking red orange yellow and pink, stems green blue and tips are violet, enmeshed like the newest iteration of my aura, save that dark spot over my tummy that sarita and i saw in the auragraph taken on canal street. oh crystal ball, the gall, the gall, it was the gall you saw!