Alexis
Caruso

I constantly write sentences and stop in the middle of them. I also can never finish the last bite of dessert. My body tells me to move on. I come back to these sentences and often can’t remember where they were going, but I like them as is. I feel like my brain and my stomach are cosmically entwined, in cahoots toward my body’s impairment. They tell me not to eat when I want to, to eat when I don’t want to, to move on from a task when I’ve barely made headway. They keep me constantly bored, under stimulated, searching for anything to attend to that is not the task at hand. They high-five and I feel it in my gut. I draw guts because mine have a mind of their own, and I know them very well. I want to see if I can make you know them too.