lately I've felt the world swallowing me.
It's not an enveloping, which suggests I'm somehow losing ground, lacking footing.
No, it's not a sinking into the sand.
The redness of my newly outside skin attracts other redness-es in the world.
Constant triangles meeting other triangles; silks meeting other silks.
Boxes in which I fit, mirrors in which I half-hide.
It's more like suddenly being able to speak a lot of languages.
As if language was contagious!
But not a speaking in tongues, which suggests an accidental path within disorder.
This is a language that carries equipment,
and it is Pleasurable:
Pleasure
Able
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