01.Oct.2002

I want out of my head

--

...i swear all it takes is time

We didn't start the fire

Perhaps the fire started us.

Blear-thought, rocking chairs and the white carpets beneath them, carpets know domestic arguments, I long for days where the only concerns I possess are domestic.

I want out of my head, I want out of the suffocating brain-tide, I want against arid shore, split against a blaring sun, every flaw intensified, I want to find the beauty of my imperfection.

Flowery language. The same tired vernacular. Misty nights and stream-of-conscious Bohemianism.

I want out of my head.

--

time & machine