I think the phrase is “whirling dirt-rish feverishly infecting every cell of my brain and my mind and my being.
Round and round, ever cyclical. Faster and faster, sometimes slower and slower but always there
When I can’t see it, I can’t view it in any kind of way. I can’t speak to it but I know it exists
I can’t speak to it but it speaks to me. It speaks to me in rhythms and ghostly memories of long-forgotten places and times and beings
It speaks to me in great nuance of ancestors and family that make believe of childhood memory
But this communication is one way only
I kind of implore it to stop, to improve, to paint good pictures in bright pastel colors, yellow
I’m merely a body for it to pass on memories, times, places, and dates I no longer recall
And I am just a body for it to infect with its negativity, its reminders of mistakes past, present, and future
It’s not a ghost or shard or remnant. It is ever-present. It is always and will be always
I don’t own it yet it is mine and I am its
It’s neither welcome nor unwelcome but within the shell of me and my body and my being and my mind it is ever present