i walked straight up to the ocean, slipped in and wanted to stay in for good. the frigid salt water bit my ankles and i let myself drown, i kept myself under for too long, floating in a mess of salt and shame. the cold water kept my blood from running too quickly, kept me tense, and kept me so relaxed, as if it was a blanket of stitches and souchers, holding my skin onto my bones so tight. i’m not afraid of drowning, or quick currents that pull at your ankles and take you down, because i am not afraid of going under. that moment when you decide that it’s okay that your hair gets wet and it’s okay that your make up runs and that you don’t give a damn who sees you anymore, the moment you count to three then press yourself down, into the deep thick blue that is the pacific and you breathe, not in the physical sense of breathing, but you breathe in that shock of the sudden burst of tem...

A alheimurinn vex í mér. Jæja, ég láta það vaxa. Það mun teygja strengi mína. Og í því kasta svörtum birta ég orðið allt.

I used to swim a lot, submerge myself a lot, it was always so surreal, like ebbing through a thick air, with slow movements that were made graceful by the blanket of blue light and refraction. and when you open your eyes it’s all a blur, with soft edges but significant details you can’t miss, the way hair separates and moves, the way clothes flow and roll like waves all along the body.