lonely night in
Panic in between states extra movement round the molecules. It is so cool that you are typing on one of those old typewriters, really like the sound lastnight and, when you used the wind chimes. blah blah blah. Your blue tank leaves a credit to its font, strikes a beautiful page. Already I want to read it.
Blue light in the living room, red light out the back door. Churchill over the piano. Bicycle seat stand lamp rear door corner, can tall lamp opposite. Washes the room with indirect light, not a dark edge in sight. No burnt retinas.
Hot shower, waiting for hair to dry. Tense upper back, three months and I want my long stretches in front of nothing moving nowhere. Too much movement to keep the thoughts in one place sedimenting. Scatterbrain fragments, continually catching oneself on an error of unthinking stupidity, so much for the flawless self. Hide carry away the luggage, stuff it under the table. Like there is absolutely nothing to do. Keep the tasks rolling over. Shut not off the brain state, now more than ever the crushing tie to people comes reigning in. I have fun here, come join me, but elsewhere is their cry.
I have the hosue to myself, freedom to roam destroy and create still they do not come. I bring portens, lunar eclipses, golden rays no knock. Time available, sequester drugs and resources to be made available - silence. These are not my people.
Outgrown, taken root sprouted an idea a nursery rhyme tell tale rattle of employment of the ego. Spare us your body parts I will go on forever. These are the people I know. They are lost in their world of produce. There is no trying, only becoming. Every point of departure is a desire (a striving for) throwing oneself from a chain of thrown-ness. On the way to being...