By Isaac Handelman

It's back! That wonderful, freeing feeling That terrifying aimlessness The flip-flop, flowing river Can't help but breathe it in For the time being, it feels good And the moment matters The freedom to draw a cube on a piece of paper and to feel good about it; to think it's beautiful I am ignoring him now I don't care about what he's saying So I'm choosing to be free of it Regret is senseless, and I do my best to avoid it To breathe it out when it starts to creep back in Instead, I focus on the moment, And on what matters On shading the cube It matters to me

It’s easy to get caught up in the game, the game that chews you up and gurgles you and spits you out if you’re lucky. Realizing this, the piece did its best to avoid the big hand, the hand that rolled and craved, more than anything, for a landing on Boardwalk. An intense fear gripped the piece whenever this hand reached for it. It knew others endured the same frenzied flights away from the hand’s grasp. Some got swept up by it, and others hopped out of the way, but they were all afraid of it. It came as a relief, a tremendous blessing and a breath of calmness, to encounter another piece that shared the strong desire to get off the board altogether, to hop onto the floor and roll somewhere safe, down a vent or under a couch. Even being eaten by a dog or taken as cheese by a mouse might be preferable to the alternative. Annihilated by an overwhelming sense of dread, bursting with an energy inside it, the piece began to grow, and stubs sprouted from it, stubs that grew to limbs, lim...

The Mutterer sits muttering to himself, and biting his fingernails. He is a mangy beast, and his claws have grown jagged. He resides in a cave, in a hillside, and he mutters to himself all day. He mutters things like, “I want to leave this cave,” but the steep hillside always stops him before he can get far. So instead, he does things like listening to his heartbeat, and examining the patterns of stone formations on the walls and ceilings of his dwelling place. He breathes and sits and mutters. Speaking in full sentences, to others who listen for him to say something, is too hard, so instead he mutters. Muttering is, for him, freedom. A total lack of expectation. He says nothing, is content. Muttering to himself binds him and it frees him. It keeps him in his cave and it ensures his continuing comfort. He finds not much to complain about. He finds no desire to talk to anyone except himself. That is why muttering is enough for him. No one else would be as good at listening to what he m...

Chemicals drag us around. You can feel them coursing through you, when you stop and let it in. It’s a fibrous liquid, and it pulls at every part of you at all times. Stop trying, because it ends up dragging you everywhere. It is fate and physical control. Mock its power and it comes back to jerk you away. It’s a hell of a beast. Stop trying to do something different because it always does the same. It’s not bad, it shouldn’t make you feel bad. Stop trying, you’re trying too hard again. The right stimulus is impossible to find, so stop trying to find it and just go and let the movements occur. Light in all your fingertips and heavy in the chest. Gulping. Stare at the space between the point formed by your thumbs, and think about shapes for a minute or two, or ten or twenty. Start counting. Try to find calm. It’s a storm, and the ground is rocking. Crashing and thrusting its contents all about, dislodging that which it holds up. This is called perfection. Perfection is this. What you cre...

Writing with my thumbs, not sure that I should be writing right now. Might be making myself do it. Something beautiful. Remembered it tonight. A good time. Recall. Smiling. Anxiety in the chest, like tightness. Breath. Singing to myself. In another place. Doing what feels good. Trying to. Many things vie for attention and allegiance. Silence again. How? Sleep. May I? Write in the dark. Could be darker. Time is a thing. Bad. What is the threshold? Meaningless. Useless? Worthless? Not worthless. Simple. What you need. Enjoy it and don't stop. Try. Bad. Cycles can be vicious. No insights. Just fleeting thoughts.