im trying to reach heaven
thats the place where my friends are
and im looking for some bricks
to be part of my tower
—
in the morning you have a little bowl filled with slices of smoked trout. thin and vibrant. dangled above the mouth, thread-like. and you imagine being a little palace cat, spoiled, perching atop columns and such. eating trout from little bowls.
things are opening up again, and you think about friendships where nobody can get hurt. appropriate levels of callousness. along parallel but separate lines is the value one gets from disdain. there is to be an unfurling.
at night: shakshuka again. your stomach will hurt again after - you know this when buying the ingredients. not because of the shakshuka, it is just delicious and you will eat too much.
you hope to manage a renewed enthusiasm. to eat until it hurts.
—
it is good to build towers
to suffer
to eat trout
—
but your friends are not in heaven
and you shouldn't call them bricks
it's a little bit mean