he was grateful when he went into his mouth and pulled things out that didnt belong there

how they got there was beyond him

he didnt recognise them

some were hard

some were soft

              and hardened on paper to his left that he scribbled on to remember things he thought were worth remembering worth recording to fashion into something that he had no idea they would become like a thump of wet clay to turn on a wheel molten glass blown  like a boy facing a beating or running off

                                                                                            maybe he hadnt sense to run

he looked inside himself like he looked at what came out his mouth and not recognising it it made no sense to run off he also saw that that unnerved others he didnt make sense to them

it was then that he realised he was perverse

                                              his sympathetic nervous system fight or flight didnt hold sway with him

seemed there was fight and fight 

what might come out on the other side could be gruesome if someone cared

he didnt

he didnt press or pursue issues

however when laid at his feetwhen provoked

he stood

he wasnt going nowhere 

make a bed

sleep in it

                       this was one of those things that began on paper left of his hand

0007,  Monday,  15  11. 21

1037,  Monday,  15  11. 21