Do you believe there is a disconnect between mind and body?
Yes/No
If you think there is, how can you reconnect?
Exercise? Remove of over-stimulators of mind/body. Talk with friends while walking.

The song came to a crechendo, she dropped her glass – it shatters. Showering the floor with red wine and glass. My socks were tinged red from that day on. (What a memory, what an action, quite the accident, all that excitement)

I asked what people did when they were dealing with stress.
She stood up to fill up her glass, knocking mine all over me. I sat there relaxed and wondered at her terribly great form. The discussion went on, no voices were raised. And action ensued a question, minds clouded, minds resolved. I was OK.
The question went answered. Shallow and deep. Action through loss of physical presence, though disjointed and discombobulated actions happened. Not out of thought, but out of character and real.

I asked her if there was a disconnect. She said she didn’t want to talk about it.
I shut down, my legs started walking. I just needed to talk, I needed something. Stimulation or i’d think about horrible depressing things. I drank because people liked to talk. Timing with these things is everything. I shouldn’t drink.
I stood there, at the cross-roads.
The bus shelter up and over to my right.
Education behind.
Drinking and frivolity a straight shot. In front. Welcoming squeals of joy and laughter.
A girl in a short skirt, sitting down next to the beer van.
I felt cold.
I put on my jumper, rolled down my sleeves, put on one of my many hats.
Turned and headed back to education.
Its a farce, really.
I wanted to go, and wanted not to drink. I wanted a crowd of easy going people; people I loved. I didn’t have the energy or want for anyone or anything in particular. I’d done the see-saw. I’d weighed things. I’d fashioned reason. I’d avoided so much. I was wearing shorts. My shirt wasn’t enough.
I thought of Scotland and the best times were improvised, drunk and rambling.
My tongue is blistered, lips cracked. Tired lines, large head. Blue eyes.
Crackling. Cracks appearing.
Looking up and out over the sky. Under it.
There was no justice. Only time passing. The clouds and the periscope of my mind.
Angles worked to hinder and hide. The robot heart in my chest beating out a tune, vibrating and trickling. Thoughts like snare.
My lips peeping and asking for a kiss from those i’d lost and loved.
The conversations the nights before I hadn’t had.
War films, not grabbing me with their risks.
I wanted primal invigoration. The rush of red, black and white.
But nothing came.
“The academics were coming to the school”
The world play, the associations, the accidental symmetry of it all.
Analogourous.
Parallel lines of choice. Teaming, mingling and spinning.
Circling one another. The helix – but i’m missing one line (always).
Just two perspectives.
The elusive, allusion of a thoughts outside of what we must call real.
A split smile.
Lips spilt.
Legs spit from thighs that shake and ask questions of final destiny.
Reviled, praised and pried.
Prized pyres, burn within us all.
The thin thing that crosses us.
Vexxing our spirit and question our systems of control and function.
Want and why not.
Reconsiderations, gestures of control and eye contact.
Supression and reconnection.
I blaze into the microphone my lost wants.
Fold and folded and repeated.
Bleating follows my inauguration into the immolation of time.
Your head explodes when you’re cremated and your ashes are kept behind the door that never closes. We use the bag that your ashes rest in to hold the fly swat.
That’s not very respectful.
We lack a certain class and we may never be able to break these structures now that we’ve heard about them and they’ve been acknowledged.
The skinny lady. The girl, the woman. Ms.
Miss, miss, miss.
Lady, spinster, Madame.
A black sunrise.
And spiders crawl about me. Biting and puncturing my web of lies and self talk.
I wanted more from this.
I remember being on my Razor scooter and jumping up pavements.
Dying and dying and dying.
My skills fading, my head growing.
Lost thought. Care and corrupting for ones own body,
sitting in a chair.
Shoes, shorts, shirt.
SHIT “I”M Disconnected.
Sinconnect. Pissconnected – I could have been drunk.
Lost and eye. Gained someone else; if only for the night.
Got in a fight, hung out with my mexicans.
Been jolly, walked and fallen.
Taken out an earring.
Pierced the fabric of cement with my face.
Bursting light, pain and feeling all make sound in my skull.
A skill of tastes and grey matter.
Snot and drool,
a gawking unfunctioning progression of life to death.
Dismemberment. Falling from a balcony.
HIV riddled with emphasis on EMPHYSEMA.
Physical dissolution.
Doubly dissolved dissassociations. Dialects dribble from my mouth.
A loss of language making me riddle. This bag impaling me.
Filled with piddle.
Dick shrunk for lack of use,
and what is the use.
The NATURAL CYCLE WILL END.
But not in my lifetime. You will go on, be brilliant.
Eject and cadet out. Grow into generals.
Minds pulsing.
Water tanks. life, forming and reforming.
Genetic strands. The water, rejuvenating us.
The plus of returning to our roots.
Growing smaller not bigger.
Mating, not worrying about gender or race or disiease.
The strong will survive. We will be cured, can we not cure AIDS through genetic mutation. Functioning. Progression.
Unsustained. Death only from exhaustion.
Time’s Arrow: Hiding my sources and resources.
The epiphany of ephemeral linguistics and references.
Food for thought, being lost on our own mind.
Growing bodies, hives of society.
mating and growing. We need a conglomerate of language.
Where everyone speaks the same.
Education, sharing. Permanence, with a lack of excitement.
Wild and crazy people bringing bad ideas, death and destruction.
People living in fear without analysis.
Nothing to do but set up foundations.
Not yours, not related.
Sick, we’re all sick.
From babes we grow sick. And we form, and change and develop.
Two eyes.
Two I.
Two.
Relate to oneself.
Give life.
Resist wives.
Genetic.
Put on your guys guise.
Ignorance, boats and deeper water.
We only go away to realize how good we had it.
Alive or dead.
Ready or not; here I come.
And the children of the dead seed with feed upon the living.
For stimulation has already taken over.
Laughter is harder and rarer.
More chaotic, more unique.
Horrible and shamed.
Jiggling bodies, narcissus.
Peddling his moth eaten ideas in the gardens of Epicurus.
And neither Eeyore nor Neitzche can spell their way out of this gloom.
Pirate and the brooding millhouse will fall.
Crumbling into the ocean.
And science will tell secrets of constructs we learnt in bridge with our dying Grandfather Jack. All he left was a clock.
And that stopped years ago, though you cherished it.
A poignant moment, and the grass was so wet the day it stopped.
And thoughts seemed to collapse everything.
A rye zone of indifference.
Impossible human suffering.
Food and violence.
Fucking and wanting to be fucked – the able bodied curse of trying to find better in all the wrong places.
Not improving or asking or stopping to thing.
Never communicating the worthwhile.
To starved from body. The illicit suppression of life have us chasing the comical caricatures constructed cunningly circa civilization crippling conjoint. Calling crayons crescendo, criminally cordials: culpable, Cactus ash in my mouth.
Mind pricking and erupting without the sense to see the third line.
Its all collapsed.
The cycle of victims repeats. History offends and suggests victories where there were none. Books written by others. Snarling lions put down.
No great victories were ever won by my nature. Not yet anyway.
But I continue to collate and wonder and correct people where they fail to stand on anything but their own praying knees.
Poor soles of feet. Down-trodden, prickled and dry.
Tongue out, spitting, split.
Spilling blood, natural as anything.
HIV’s the cordial dandelion the affluent deny.
Killing us all.
Wishing us luck.
Denying right up until the end.
Our two rickety wheels no more.
Coming to a wheedling, rickety end.
Muck and grime in the sprockets.
Bearing cracked and ground.
Splintering.
Breaking down to nothing but its original material.
Time ties time to time.
Try try try. and and and and and.
Form it.
Look it up.
Form and style and thing and genre.
Art for ought. Ethical choices.
Good and bad. Broken binaries.
Is is was. Horses eyes.
Meek collateral damage.
Princely treasure and Dell’s construction of computers.
Gold in chips.
Chips of gold. Metals, precious.
Computers, ideas and thoughts and weight and disconnect.
Stimuli and disconnect.
Walk and talk and love and worm.
Into the earth.
Burrow. Warm yourself in me.
in my orphanage of thought.
illiterage, belligerent.
Hellbent on momentary satisfation.
Satiated false.
Lack. I lack I lack.
Wisdom and the body of real knowledge.
Activate with others.
Make available.
Time time time for you my love.
An addiction and condition, of mental instabilty, miss-trust and connection to others.
Dangerous like all humans.
Asking, pleading, bleeding and pledging.
Alliegence, honour and virtue.
All misspelled.
Counterspelled
and sold.
Love to the highest bidder.
The mistakes are high,
and the high minded are just that.
Nosebleeding fools of condition and defeatist success.
Regressing to our cell-like precognition.
Entertainment and distraction: like words,
work on us to maintain this comfort of form.
And from the banality we taste cactus,
as we use it for the burns of the sun.
Ironic, medicinal purchase to defeat time and buy us more life.
A stall. Our vehicle bought at such a price.
And we don’t even.
We don’t even know maths.
We are the odd ones.
out, aloof. Alone, suppressed. distressed and digressed.
opinion. Pining. Realigning.
Stars and signs and fate and fatalism.
Isms
Prisons.
Onion. Peeling.
layers and rhizome.
No zone, oil patches and willing participants of pocket watchers.
Watches of colour and tasters of flavour and missionaries for sound,
fucking in daylight, moonlight, fanny by the gas light.
Prices paid. Waylaid and disobeyed.
Run away, run away run away and and and.
Pre fix. Suffer IX.
9 times out of ten we lose it.
IT is what it IS because I talked about it and you follow.
I have you and your favor FAVOUR for so long.
So long. And we need one language.
But there is too much for one lifetime.
So I fall away like a leper.
We need to have an idea, then cut it from us.
Change adapt. Carefully.
Don’t react.
Speak softly, slowly, considered.
Don’t be wasteful.
Watch the reactions in the room.
Recite truths and ask questions. That!
Now that could work, old sausage.
Put some jam and ham in the white bread.
Figs and cream cheese.
Ask a friend about a sand.
A sand witch.
A sandwich that has all the spread.
Which dominates is what your body is lacking. (perhaps)