all over me. i want my body to be a library of symbols, fingers pointing at moons, snippets of great poetry that are better out of their context. i want to look down at a nod to Diogenes and immediately recall the quote or anecdote i need most at that moment. i want two lines of E. E. Cummings to remind me that the world doesn’t give a fuck. i want two sections from a page in an old Jewish prayer book i borrowed from a roommate, telling me that i’m nothing and that everything is all here exclusively for me, because they’re both fucking true. i want vinegar, because this vinegar tastes like vinegar. maybe Vonnegut’s asshole, to recall the hobo dying on the ninth day, because so it goes.
i want so many other things right now, too. but i got good friends. really good friends. unreasonably good friends. it blows my fucking mind sometimes. i have food in my belly, i’m reasonably warm, good tunes are on, and i got the means to put my shit together better, get myself another tattoo artist that isn’t a dramatic pain in the ass, and collect truths that i can take with me anywhere.