what does a broken finger look like?

dear syntax, dear snapped-off buttons, dear red ink, 

What is the difference (if any) between a rite and a ritual? Ask yourself this when you contemplate society's modern day passages. There are two sides to these actions; the ritual cannot be complete without audience and actor both. Sometimes these roles are dual — sometimes the characters fulfilling these are collapsed into one — but the multiplicity must still be present. These liminal pockets are deep, but what can we find at the bottom of them? Myth is like dissection, like splitting the chest cavity open, like snapping ribs and scraping intestines. Myth is bloody, myth is decreation first and creation second.¹

Note: one of these is not the same.
i.e. an inverted corpse is sitting at your dining table 
i.e. you are always falling down a rocky cliff side and always vanishing before you hit the bottom
i.e. your labor is moving sand from one side of a beach to the other; you dig a hole and then fill it
i.e. the birds are floating like the sky is water and the trees all appear upside down to your eyes
i.e. the sun has been loud in the morning, and the screams won't stop buzzing in your ears
i.e. there is a woman standing outside the gates and no one will let her in

If this is myth, what is a dream? Are they sometimes the same and sometimes not? What is the probability of it? What is the overlap? Can we quantify this feeling of unbecoming with a number? So the right and left hemispheres of our brain have something to say about this unseemly amalgamation?

There are too many questions these days, too many grasping moments — always groping for the light switch on the wall in the dark and always passing just over it. You open your mouth and the wrong language spills out; the context is all wrong here, the syllables uncomfortable in the heavy air and under the hard gazes. Your voice is buzzing like a hive, like the bees that are crawling out of your throat, like the honey dripping from your eyes when you lay down to sleep. Your hands are sticky with this wrongness. 

1 The year is 2023. I’m editing and annotating my old letters in preparation for their rewelcoming to the world.

The term “decreation” is borrowed from Decreation: Poetry, Opera, Essays by Anne Carson, who in turn borrowed it from the French philosopher and mystic Simone Weil. I didn’t use it in really the same way at all, but I’ll take any chance I can to recommend Anne Carson.