06.Apr.2003

look at all the lonely people

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where do they all belong?

As illogical as this may sound, somewhere, in the back of my petulant skull, railed and jumbled as stocky bits of romantic discretion, I twist my mental grip around an image of you, picking up the phone at three in the morning and requesting my presence beside you at the hands of spontaneity, setting ablaze that fucking useless tapestry of Catholic-threaded guilt.

No questions, no analysis, I only want it to mean what it means at the time, whatever that may be.

Don't say anything; I don't want to hear it.

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I watched an episode of Six Feet Under tonight that left me lit and frustrated, sexually, romantically, mentally, et al.

I am going to have a bath which will sober me up from the banal tide of extremely normal loneliness.

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time & machine