Eating the Girls Up
Yum, yum!
Gut Check
When you are a public figure who says a lot, it can be easy to convince yourself nobody fucks with you. Until you go outside. Until it is three hours before midnight and you are stumbling around the club in a ivory latex body thong getting pulled for chats, hugs and kisses all night long. Silence is not always negative. Sometimes quiet means you are in fact eating the girls up.
A lane is a lane is a lane and the gap between them is where things sing. Different melodies, same tune? Curving toward varietal currents, each its own energy occupying form. Do we field silence or does it scan for us? These split roads rely on resolve. Clean accounts ought to prompt raising of the brow, especially when wounds close over a lie. It is a sign to put the “pick me” vibes down.
Cut Along the Seam
What really happens is a seam opens. Along the riff, you are living a life guided by your contributions to the care and well-being of others, calling disappearing, love. Stretching across the garment, reaching for you reaching for you. Not always. Not perfectly. But someway somehow. The sequence is the whole thing. You go to iron and realize rapture cut along the seam, the place where the order of our lives lives.
The practice is, it isn’t personal. Unless it is. The fact that a leather thing can be scaly and smooth. Not choosing how the mouth mouths, but letting it flap bidirectionally. I would venture to say maturity is switching lanes wide enough for the mouth to chaos safely. Readings riding the tongue together.
Same Tide
If you are paying attention, the loudest mainstream current is doubling down on the individual. Personal brands, mythologies and solo economies. We are all putting ourselves first. The field is tilting that way, gravity a bitch. We are cutting the seam of both the manufacturing of consent and intentional awareness of order flipping. Abandoning toward ourselves, individuating away from each other on the same tide. Hurt happens with the silver lining of making quiet legible. Sometimes the clearest readings bleed.
Roam Reading
I have been thinking a lot about the contexts in which we hear about marginalization and power. That we are on the edges and out of control and they are in power, psychopathic pedophiles. That there is not almost this inverse thing that can happen in a private protected life. That there are powers that are not servants of abuse or control but rather, an invisible shifting of the field’s tectonics toward love and a fleshy version of the everlasting web connection that comes post-life. Domination moves through a room on panopticon timing, watched into shape whether or not anyone’s viewing. Tilth moves the opposite way, no surveillance, just a room composting when people tend to instead of police each other.
In Black spiritual traditions, we get to know our tilth and the intimacy burials standing in a dead thing’s doorway posturing your now, required for accountable tilthing, by offering spirit plates. Become a paid subscriber to learn the Root Mouthing version of spirit plating.
