I feel as if I am going for seconds. Does that make me glutinous? Anxious to have another piece of the prodigal pie. To draw you in with sugar and cream. To fatten you up with words; fill your mouth and mind with things that shouldn’t be recklessly tampered with.
I read that Maya Angelou said “words are tangible things”. I’m making an effort to be mindful of words. Yesterday the word “shit” was synonymous with channeling the muses. Yesterday, I equated Jesus with writing. Am I improvident? Letting a blog, a novel, a poem get to my head; letting the words consume like ice-cream on a hot summer’s day, filling a void, but at the expense of gathering around my gut, expanding into lumps of excess.
I don’t want to be a heavy-weight. I only want beauty. For words to build up such chains of reason, eloquence, and comfort that they can make an unknowing passerby be mesmerized with what can come of intangible palpability. I know the last sentence is a dichotomy. All art is beautiful complexity.