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                there is no sacred action
                there is no mundane action
                other than anxiety makes it so

                my pointless life is stuck free to move within it
                                not before it
                                not out through the other side

                I can’t see where to go
                I can’t remember where I’ve been
                other than panic propels me around
                both centrifugal and centripetal together
                both hopeful and nostalgic

                I’ve read the books (so often now
                that I keep on missing the point) it is
                the quietly turning centre point of all the anxiety and panic
                                              that will illuminate the whole wall
                                like a spaceship cloud at sunrise





anxiety & settling wormhole: no biggie:
clouds wormhole: open window
doing & life wormhole: contemplating my painted copy / of Vallejo’s Conan
light & morning wormhole: sitting up in bed s i m u l t a n e o u s l y
pointlessness & silence & walls wormhole: Tulips by Sylvia Plath – How Far To Step Before You Raise The Other Foot
reading & talking to myself wormhole: day off
sitting wormhole: !
sun wormhole: a cup of tea, gov