I maintained yesterday

 that it was scentless like a recent purchase but now after having had a hot shower in the pale green luminous cocoon of 'home' it seems completely he-ed, B-ed, spiced, wooded, like the white pine car freshener looped and swinging from one corner of the overhead light (i assume it's fluorescent bc its never been on) as

 

if now that all extant and previous smell in its sort of constant format that is: own personal wreath has been removed and there is a... Deodorish, soapy, but complex like under-ness of something incense-like

Not my own incense

The scent exists in patches and even where it does exist it's uneven in generated blurry overlay

Patches now become slivers fading from access as i put my face into the fabric repeatedly in service of Description always in service of DESCRIPTION! kind of like but not at all because i don't recognize that or her as the self or now in comparison of the current "self" with that one i just felt curiously suspended myself from the corner of some permanently un-lighted light OK kind of like, and this is analogue only in physical action and "memory" and him as unwieldy and lasting linch-pin... Me pinned to my bed, only able to kind of wriggle back and forth, catching patches of scent in pre-stained desaturated pink/coral ikea bedsheets which now i know was some heady mix of personal glands (glanded personal is a funny verbal re-sequencing, note) and old spice timber, i remember thinking     I’ll move thorugh the coastsliding Felt nearly nothing being held by B, multiple chemical hazes about the extent of what veils and wreathes thinly (?) finely (?) not wreathes, how to say when a fine transparent net(ting) lays movably over my warm terrific body…    What do I recognize as my self now?I had until i think "now" "presently" seen this entire stretch of 15 months as a level board balanced with no real upward growth or even forward movement just a recursive pattern of same and sad but now it teeters

Weeell i am different but i also dont understand how or who i am right now alone in my oldest room with 4+ walls paling green at me within them I am here and without a workable definition contoured by and in relation to other people

I am wearing it, the gift. last night dreamt in a series of slapstick situations that i would wake up from or less wake up from than dart out from under for what seemed to be lightless and faraway glimpses of my window, each time noting that the sky was still dark so i probably hadnt missed the bus home yet. then falling back in. B beside me totally asleep and shuddering. B on the other side of the ridge, across the slightly raised cleave in borough, probably also totally asleep, mouth turning outwards slightly, contained in body, in his own private and silent inner self, own dim  uneasy dreamworld, no red line under dreamworld but yes red line under dreamt, body not connected from anything or spreading out over anything as when i imagine or access the thought of it as if he was some kind of long, ambitious shellac of thought and texture more than person, well.... Personed..... All writing about him feels the same... Body hitching in its/his own personal sleep, the hot funk of that small column of scent coming out in puffs... Like some kind of piston extending itself up then down and back into again in oppositional action potential and kinetic energy both dangling from the same end of the previously level board now teetering towards not even one end but one corner in 3 dimensional sinkage

Waiting on upload which is happening in a flat sheet of retina display in midtown like a dimensionless puppet which i am tugging at from over here where i am

Will think more about the texture etc. of this long fatty body of "Year" tomorrow when i have had some sleep

I hear chatter in my head  and its in my mothers voice with full timbre but no sound Then one bar of electro swing