as it turns out, as it wants things and attention. It belongs to others and all their vocabularies that fall from some other cliffs or turfs, or lands, sometimes, in somebody else’s lap.
It knows objects and surface friction. It knows it can take on its slippery dark interior and wear it like an old inside-out leather button-down shirt – worn so many times that finally it feels nearly transparent.
At one point fingers touch tail and pubic bone, bones are identified through one’s own touch – a touch trained to move beyond skin and fluids (the rechargeability and emotionality of these ease) to make way for haptic surges, nerve endings, trailings.
(They have been teaching us this all along. Along a path of resistances, this generation plunders along.)
The body longs for the haunt of one’s attention,
something beyond itself. Too, there is the feeling of walking along a many-miles-high bridge. On it, just a few feet away, a waterfall pounds its weight into a pool far below you. Some of its spray reaches you, teases you to come fall down into the fray. Its ferocity tempts. What’s worse is the ___ (fear/desire/certainty?) of accidentally jumping all-in with it. The will to join in order to become the rush. We may only imagine with, or as, the surrounding fluid. Does fluid hit with a thud or do the cells slide with each other at the pool’s mouth? Is the swallow an integration or a slap? Is that split a coming to or coming with? All that howling, propulsive, vibrational luring. It wants both a pause and to fall in, to become the current.
It starts differently than this. There’s a rush when I look at what is built into the word and what it wants to do. What it can do. The trochanter, that too-deep “inner” and achy-protruding “outer” knobby bone protrusion at the top of the femur bone has our attention. It sinks into and is part of our rotation, as much as it acts as a stabilizer. It is actually born of the 17th century’s Greek trekhein. It literally means, to run.
Behind multiple logics telling the histories in these connected parts are ledgers of study to identify the aggregate and leftover tail. The tail is rife with its long history of gains and losses, debts and its persuasive (& pervasive) desire in the effort to stand. It can seem lost under sheathes of fleshy layers and thicknesses bound in muscularity, too much sitting, and rounded fat. Mine, my ass, I mean, is (or was) so flat. How unbecoming to not have that to hold onto. How inconvenient then, to be accompanied by an ass crack that starts so low, and a tail that plays lower on the flat surface. Like others, it draws towards its sensitive tip on the way carving its curve towards the front. Here is a place where the body is both in front and back behind itself at the same time. A moving standstill. Similar then to all the curves from where anterior blends towards posterior, or from ventral to coronal, or where top falls towards a bottom.