03.July.2002

I'm back.

--

she's convinced she could hold back a glacier

The moon hangs between high and low brilliantly, surrounded by a violent gaze of stars, among other planetary visions. I think of its pallid distance while the ashtray overflows with late thoughts. I still conjure the same old blatantly unfulfilled mirages of cars and speed, and silver and black horizons against a rising city.

I think of the acidic taste in my mouth and the quickest way to remedy that while my manic anxiety wears thin for an undetermined amount of time. I am constantly reaching toward something I profess I'm beginning to understand, but I don't think I ever will.

It's amazing how the human paradigm can shift against an incandescent wave of torturous non-touch. The clouds shape, twist, move - change comes, but I'm peaceful with its weirdness. I'd prefer it on this plane rather than living the great tragedy.

It makes me want to squeeze my cells dry of all my creative paint, and spread it on the same, unsanitary canvas. I smell like chlorine and Egyptian Cotton, and I taste like dark acid.

The boys are yet again mischievous while I wistfully reach toward the depths of that very same, unachievable distance.

And I feel that it's only just begun.

--

time & machine