fuckin' shit mother fucker, dawg.
the morning woke me soundly, and with a full night's sleep - as it should have seeing that i had been unconcious for nearly 12 hours. the shower came easy, as well as dressing, and when it came time to start my shift it was only a matter of being there. but the day wore on.
you know how this world can get you down? it's the little things, i cannot explain their nature or even their form. thoughts, worries, words from the wrong people at the wrong time... it's one thing when you are so comfortable being all on your own, and the fortress betwix the outsider and the darkly throne of the mind is wide and particularly swampy and dangerous. but today, things were different.
i am home now, and i feel lonely. the last month has had me in a comfortable groove of isolation - a smooth mechanical rhythm unspoiled by any branch or thorn or lip of bystander. nothing went wrong, because nothing could. there was only work and sleep, with the tuned-in-dropped-out periods of intense physical focus in between. call it logical, call it useful, call it productive...
i came home and read 'the picture of dorian gray' for about an hour, before falling asleep again. i really do love reading, and i don't do it enough; yet i still wish i had someone to tell about the story. i need people, i need someone. sometimes i feel like a machine, and not a human being - without the organics, the guts of life. i need to see eyes, and feel skin, and hear words. i need to stop expelling facts and start having conversations. i need to get the hell out of this apartment and bring life to other people, and i need to fix this place up for the bringing of life here. confucius said "ultimately, we are all alone, so get used to it". but today i feel like "fuck you confucius, i'm an optimist" and going out.
when i am here with you, it is safe. nothing can tempt me away, nothing can rip me away, nothing can keep me away, and nothing can hurt us. the outside be damned, we have each other.
you know how this world can get you down? it's the little things, i cannot explain their nature or even their form. thoughts, worries, words from the wrong people at the wrong time... it's one thing when you are so comfortable being all on your own, and the fortress betwix the outsider and the darkly throne of the mind is wide and particularly swampy and dangerous. but today, things were different.
i am home now, and i feel lonely. the last month has had me in a comfortable groove of isolation - a smooth mechanical rhythm unspoiled by any branch or thorn or lip of bystander. nothing went wrong, because nothing could. there was only work and sleep, with the tuned-in-dropped-out periods of intense physical focus in between. call it logical, call it useful, call it productive...
i came home and read 'the picture of dorian gray' for about an hour, before falling asleep again. i really do love reading, and i don't do it enough; yet i still wish i had someone to tell about the story. i need people, i need someone. sometimes i feel like a machine, and not a human being - without the organics, the guts of life. i need to see eyes, and feel skin, and hear words. i need to stop expelling facts and start having conversations. i need to get the hell out of this apartment and bring life to other people, and i need to fix this place up for the bringing of life here. confucius said "ultimately, we are all alone, so get used to it". but today i feel like "fuck you confucius, i'm an optimist" and going out.
when i am here with you, it is safe. nothing can tempt me away, nothing can rip me away, nothing can keep me away, and nothing can hurt us. the outside be damned, we have each other.