fuck you. why are you asking me for the title first? usually first I write, then there's a title. fuck you. Post Fourteen. Fifteen? No, I think Fourteen. Oh sorry, I thought you meant new blog as in new post, but you meant actual new blog. My bad. By the way, it's more like post Eighteen. But out of the numbered ones, Fourteen.

What are my thoughts, here. Am I worried I'm not letting myself feeling what I do feel? Or am I worried I want to feel something and I'm forcing it? The latter doesn't strike me as right. I wish I were in the woods. I wish I had a bucket of rocks, and some twenty paces away a glass bottle. Then I'd know. but the second isn't resonating. The first resonates more, but doesn't feel like struck glass. Glass comes from scolding hot, molten fibers of matter, like lava, ever-moving, always shapeless in their choreography. It breaks when it stops, it's breakable when it becomes rigid, it's not stronger if it hardens, it's exposed and weaker. I think ti works that way for everything. We are virtually invulnerable, at least on a deeper level, as long as we don't identify with an imposed, mind-crafted identity, made of past and in general of Outside, as long as we don't harden in our certainties that we hold on to so we don't feel ever-moving, like lava, which is our true, virtually invulnerable nature. The only way to be actually safe. So to not be ruled by fear I have to not harden, to keep touching what life I have in me, and if you get me closer to it -which you do- I'll keep wanting to touch you, and that's really all I need to know right now.