sleep hangs on my eyelids, a dark oily sleep, waiting to drip all over my face and body. i’ve got these feelings coming over me and being nebulous clouds me. there’s always time to kill, and i do; eradicate it like a group of frenzied crabs clawing and gnawing, with my unprejudiced scythe of indifference.
the days are like blurs, visions inspired by koyaanisqatsi, an erratic transparent line of red and white on a canvas of night and asphalt. ticks rip and suckle at my brain, schedules falling and defeating, and overcast skies sing their sweet lullabies postulating my movements from here to there. pollen sheets us, mixing with the sporadic weeping of the grey above, making me sticky, uncertain and wondering.
we curl under the covers, reminiscing and loving each other, our voices dancing the humid air we’ve created while we communicate, lost in inebriation. lands tremble and shake, and we make the distinction between fantasy and reality, realizing and dreaming and everything in between.
it was a good weekend.