by jdavidcharles

Still processing things and all–specifically as regards event and what it means to begin, to be beginning, ie what is it that makes this any different from that? Why does a certain “phase” present itself so distinctly against what we expect? Why is there surprise in our personal histories/narratives? This all gets particularly complicated given that narrative as regards self emerges somewhat alongside while ahead-of the event itself–when catastrophe happens it is only “catastrophe” as regards its narrative once I have narrated it as such, once I have structured it, built and apportioned rooms out of its traumatic void and inhabited and walked about those rooms. Suffice to say things are always complicated and enmeshed. Always enmeshed.




Sometimes such things

begin like a thundering—

or maybe more like

walking right on

through a thundering

of some terrible surface

of such things, sometimes,

just this way, a little like