Oct 10, 2008 01:05
I really miss being able to smoke inside, as I write, immediately after I return to consciousness from thought, when I hear the Piano Magic song so gorgeously chosen by him. his taste. his intricate taste and awareness, and dark passion of feeling. -for the first time in...beyond a Roscoe Village bedroom months.months ago.
Because I GET sporadic SHOCKS of intensity there are too many sensory reactions for me to get out the window in time. For it to be relevant.
I'm in rehabilitation. After all. I suppose.
What?
Here it comes again....
I am, actually, really satisfied being here. I feel loved again I don't have to make sacrifices in order to immediately feel loved.
---Perhaps it is in fact crucial to monitor all that encompasses my near vicinity. In my home. All. Everything. EVERYTHING.---
But, at least in this moment, I'm realizing that I might be plastic. Living in this place.
I don't know what to do with myself.
I can't experience passionate feeling. In this place.
My mother would call that something to be equated with recklessness....