20.Nov.2001

It's not meant to be a struggle up here

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it's not meant to be a struggle up here

The red, November sun sets low in the distance, casting an eerie, violet-tainted glow to the translucent underbelly of clouds, constantly shaping, changing, and the windows begin to fog as I trace my fingers against them and watch the distance, the impending distance, the lurid distance, the stifling distance, against the roof of the house staring me in the face.

Despite the fantastic weekend, the vibes, the myriads of vibes to come, the torment of touch, the soft amnesia of touch, I am in a shitty mood.

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time & machine