God won’t help me, so I have to read self-help books. I have time
on my hands. I have to stay inside. I am watching everything very
closely: myself, the pine trees, the pot plants, the rain, the furniture.
I can see myself from the perspective of myself and I can also see
myself from the perspective of the pine trees, the pot plants, the
rain, the furniture. What I mean to say is. I am inside and outside
at the same time. I have time on my hands. I have to stay at home. I
have to hurry up and read the books before they are due back at the
library. Last night I dreamt that I blew my nose and something like a
placenta came out. I open a self-help book that is about reading self-
help books. The preface says, If you are reading this, you are beyond
self-help. I think about myself as a child, I see my face and it doesn’t
seem real. The uterus of the forest, the winding blowing through it,
under the pine needles. I think about myself lying on a bed, covered
in needles. I am going to an acupuncturist once a week. Not because
I want my symptoms reduced, but because I want to be touched.