Selection from a very old piece called "Quetzal"- didn't know I was going to revisit this in my laptop annals today. At a time of trying to practice letting go of the need to know with absolute certainty before naming myself/living life, reading this piece from age ~19 I feel this bittersweet relief, like: thank heaven I don't have to believe this hard-assed self-policing sh** anymore. And: sometimes I still do.
* ~the diving bell~
Mouths to caress was back where the exile began, when her mind started to sprout feathers, leeched her colors away so it could fly them out into a forest made of rain. Mouths to caress and which shape they made. Which language touched which tongue (language laps, same word as tongue- when we kiss you are inside a diving bell, delving, coming up with bright flash sounds about me in your clumsy mesh bag. This is why it is so important for words and taste buds to be true).
[here is the part of the story that wanders untold. an archive without a gap makes a face without a mouth, no teeth or appetite]
And what she meant was "I have been watching the place where your hair meets your neck for weeks and I don't know why." What she meant was "I am in awe of your indifference." What she meant was "I have just let go my first love and he is still crying." What she meant was "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know anything and when I see you I feel these unfamiliar wings beating at the inside of my eyes."
The tongue is still the same word as language. Her moral teachings are clear: you will not tell a lie about your self. You will know, and only then will you say.