And sometimes the desire to write is sucked out of me like a fire extinguisher vanquishing air. I’ve been writing so much for work that words have lost their meaning and my thoughts, for once, want to be spoken and not written.
I want to spend hours talking. I want to talk and talk talk talk talk and have someone listen, and I’ll do some listening in return too. I want conversation to fill the sky and I want to extend our talking to the roots of grass. I want to argue, (without turning nasty) and I want to spar with the sounds that you make with your tongue and mouth and lips and teeth and I’ll fight back with a rapid fire of my words too.
I want to cram so many ideas into my head that they fall out of my ears and dribble down my shirt, on to the floor, spilling and spreading like gun-shot wound blood. I want a great bloody battle of conversation. And I want our war to be a fight for intelligence. I want to fill my time with cups of teas and bottomless coffees because it’s so desperately important.
I need NOISE. I need music. I want to DANCE. I want music so loud that waves of sound bounce off my skin and move through my hair. I want to let go of my body and let it move to beats that leave no room for thoughts. I need voices—ones that are outside of my head, to scratch my brain and beg to be itched so that I’m drowning in discovery. Isn’t this what life is all about – learning?
I don’t want any of this to be known through your eyes, I want them to beat your ear drum, I want a cacophony of everything that I can’t spell but that I want to express though banging banging banging on my keyboard. Screaming in a night sky. Letting my tongue flap without meaning. Without a need for meaning.
And I just want you, to nod, and understand, if you’d like, I’d love for you, to dance with me.