09.June.2001

drama queen

--

am i asking too much?

There is a reason I need contact perpetually with others of the human race, and it's this moment here, of weird introspection, and lonely insomnia, all devoid alcohol, unfortunately. I am using cronies as distractions, some more than others, some dirtier than others, I hope they do not mind.

These ceiling fans could one day belong to me, or the thought of the roof around them, or the pillars, or the silence. Or the distance. I crave and fear intimacy. And silence. So much wonderful silence.

Not all is ever silent.

I am out of cigarettes.

Drama ensues through my vein of existence, I long for distractions, mine are never wasted, time is never wasted, and yet, I prefer it this way.

When my mother vanishes.

I prefer it this way.

When I can collide violently and nakedly with untaimed fantasies, I prefer it this way.

I just ask for sleep, and tangible things, and my own freedom, and something else, something spicy, pheromones like mine, distractions, appreciations, like mine, sleep, infrangible things, so tangible, oddly needed.

Am I asking too much?

--

time & machine