nothing's gonna happen
or if it does, you won't notice
must reject philosophy
can't think anymore
facebook could be a portal
closest thing to that on my bookmark bar
nothing worth getting sucked into though
still haven't written about the plywood house
still haven't written about the collector
the shelf is crammed full of projects
can't pick up anything
gotta experience something else
sniff out oil money
save the whales, save the world
flip a coin
memories, compilation album
even that, i can't be bothered with
there's many ways to say it
no one told me when to run
this is it... this is it? okay
this is it too - see? i can "this is it", just like you
this is what i do
it's stanza-esque here in this river - gasoline rainbows, i wonder what they taste like - a gum eraser kneaded into an ear flap - an imaginary cochlea - ah - she's going to sing
sucrets sticker on the savoury room wall - i owe the patron god of medicine a rooster - in my own words - this is enriching, in some shining crazy diamond way i can't see, like a fox
the oblivion of being, that sounds about right - it doesn't need a referral - it doesn't need a script - but it is a script - this is a script - i'm so deep in character, i forgot i was playing a role - i still don't even really believe that that's what's happening, but it is
at least i want it to be - how long can this go on? nirvana still smoking, blowing smoke out, up, around - an equilibrium of not quite enough rope to hang
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3 comments:
ahhh yes, not quite enough of that rope yet. this fits my mood today. thanks!
the collector in your story, 'benign smudge'?!
yes, i think that's what i meant
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