You overinvolve me in myself___ in ways I can not control
inferior function, blood side of what I am.
You fire up between my thoughts, invisible to me, biting and spitting.
Between the words I imagine, you spin webs I can not see, forked tongue sniffing the threat you perceive everywhere. Yes you see threat everywhere. The object holds terror, danger; you scream those simple directions beneath my hearing.

Those things out there are shapes of the threat you imagine. Sharp objects all; even the softest of things lies dangerous underneath you stare.

You are an impossible weight, unmoveable stone of what I am. And what is this thing I am? You never tell me, you just show me blood and sharp teeth, what is this thing with hands? This thing that sees with your eyes?

I call it “I” but I think that is a lie___“I” will; this is what I say___ “I” am what I have conjured by thought and intent. But when I say these things you don’t look me in the eye, your gaze wanders to somewhere else, it fixes on things far away when I say “I”.

This thing that I am.

This thing I am not______not I.

So what are these thoughts of “I” you feed me with? Raging queen of all my hidden things.

Blood, you sell me blood, I can taste it when you smile.

You sell it to me on thoughts of “I”.


Queen of the soil, grown crystals, mother of delight.


Only the flesh is delight. You always speak through clenched teeth, and always weave the paradox from underneath.

Thing of light and air you tell me of the flesh and its eternal snare.

Where does the flesh become me? Where do I become the flesh?

overinvolver____ tying me to myself, to this fiction of the soil__ with these eyes you look through, with these hands you shake and tremble___ telling me of terrible things. Sometimes you tell me of the most terrible thing of all; whisperer of “I” ___when I fall, whisperer of “I”____when I laugh.

I see your beautiful smile when I say these things, your eyes flash, you bringer of this most terrible of things, you bringer of this ultimate weight.
overinvolver____singing the most terrible of songs. Melodies of the flesh sung by the voice of a ghost. fleshless harmonies.

Where does the flesh become you? Or are you the voice of blood and bone? Are you the voice from that place where It becomes I?

The other half of me, queen of the soil, mother of blood, ghost of this weight I can not tolerate.

“Spirit of Gravity” just an overinvolver in myself, pulling me down into those bright thoughts of above.

entangling me in myself and drawing me inwards I don’t think I can resist.

Can we ever resist ourselves? These a priori automatic mechanisms of birth, these central motifs of humanity blazing through us, sculpting the “us” we think of as our own creation. These overwhelming chemical structures of “I”.

What? I see you there, I hear you laugh.

Why tell me of “I” just to remove it again.

overinvolver

ultra_evolver

stop pushing me forward and let me blend back into this herd I can no longer feel, stop opening up the sky and showing me the space above my head, let me fall back into the flesh,

show me your sensual side, let it swell and pulse and accept me back, let me feel everyone again

let me feel myself again


primordial ordering system_____overinvolver

you make me this____limited thing

you show me that____and I cant reach it