10.04.2006

its that whole idea that whatever you send off might be recieved via a glass bottle in the sea. and then again when you hear the words: all their little vibratory pauses you know they came from passion felt years ago. and at best passion from two beasts. so then you squint your eyes and try to think about how it smelled so long ago..

you don't know

you are too true to yourself you are the glue and when you have dreams they move. and in the morning your first thoughts aren't, Oh where am i in location to this dread. but rather, your bed.

okay you fucking minor vibrations of the mind. who do you think you are staying all dormant like that. who do you think you are thinking you can sensor what is to come out. it is inevitable what will come out. it has already come out. oh why do you have to have such a demanding draw of the line. just do it. why does it have to be so mouthed and manipulated. practiced. dancing. you cant forget how to turn pages of a chapter just as you cannot forget the syncronization of your own steps. left right up down, tight and stiff and calm to a bus bench. speak up sit down. play with your eyes and please. and plea with them, make them sit down and listen. do it with your eyes, you'll be surprised

even when you come home you've broken a sweat and it's gotten to the point, past the point to even walk up the stairs and through the door exhausted. its best to just keep your bag on and hand warmers and immediately put on the kettle for warm water and english breakfast. maybe stop. do the ritual freezer box trot. close it. crave chocolate. but whatever you do don't sit.

out with this wish and wash and do i even know i don't know what i want. atleast now you could sit on the edge and know you're going to jump and maybe feel your heart palpitate as some sort of sick last resort to romanticize something that is tame. so dried out and watered down. some yellow or orange, something like tang.