it was true, I left a candle burning. I laugh out loud. I am wearing a mask so the three people walking towards me can’t hear me say, “. I set my altar on fire three times and never burned it down.” both the smoke detectors are beeping in my new house. I left a candle burning. it was a way to get me to go back. “I was really going to walk all the way to rittenhouse like this.” I was walking slower than before, kind of crawling while standing and crossing the street at the intersection to get around them. the people with their dog. I couldn’t pet the dog, make small talk, and couldn’t grab a real thought. I can’t believe I left a candle burning. I needed a reason to go back. the outside was indeed the antithesis of joy. in breezes, it was algid and everyone was boarded up. I was walking slower than before, kind of slithering across the intersection, leaning slightly to the right and heading back home to ensure I had left the candle burning. to sit on the living room floor, weighted. to feel the tendril wrap my head and whisper: c’est la tien, but in her brevity and english again.
it taped me to the living room floor. my anguish ineradicable and now grown legs. the sensations, the swarm. I had the thought once I was back inside that this was going to be extreme but due to superstition thought I might want to rephrase it. shaking my head, I said out loud, “no, this is intensity. you like intensity.” and I tried to remember the French phrase. not remember it, because it wasn’t forgotten but how to say it. I had practiced outside on my ten minute walk. vous saimez l’intensite. I repeated l’intensite to get the inflection down. it is best to get one at a time. j’aime lintensite. I was grateful for the candle, first, for the ritual that started this, then for making me sit and wait. it wanted weight. I wanted weight and I wanted to break through the leftover things.
last time this happened, I laid down and let myself feel the pull of the earth. I imagined being toppled with dirt. I imagined the coolness of the rocks and my body nestled in a grave. guffawing, letting the cat sit on me for grounding, I said things that had no meaning like I’m lying on top of a carcass or I feel less above the ground and more beneath it. a lot of things about a girl named Rebecca who I felt was tricking me. the realization there may be no Rebecca. the confusion and me this time thinking firmly no ghosts today. I don’t want ghosts here.
note book try tarot then lay down. I grabbed my notebook and I flipped the page to see the Virgo in the second house and in big all caps DO NOT PLAY MARTYR.
it’s too late for that isnt it? I laugh out loud
“I need to get upstairs.”