I’m rarely certain of my place in the universe. Days, months, questions, thinks, lipsticks, fires, holes, crawlings, whispers, sex, clocks, cocks, and socks all pile up and up and up so high I am sure I cannot touch the top. I admit this lack of bravery bravely. But I am rarely sure whether I am under it all or standing beside it. Sometimes I am certain I can feel it all on me. When I wake up, it sits on my chest. When I stand, it dances and balances on my shoulders. When I do handstands, I kick it.
But other times I am certain I stand beside it. These are times when I cannot understand others’ smiles. These are times when photographs look too real and the sky is a painting. These are times when I cry during a song because I’ll never hold it. These are times of loss, release, hunger, sleep, sludge, and pollen and I don’t always know how to deal with them. I suppose that’s part of getting older.
I am told that in August we may be eaten by a black hole. This certainly changes things. Of course, I understand the apprehension. I think it’s all more exciting to those of us who know what the inside of a black hole is like.