i'll take you where nobody knows you and nobody gives a damn.
you were right; they all want to settle down.
they want you to look out of the window above the sink at the same man mowing the same lawn.
i can take the fire.
this metal box is full of ghosts.
ghosts of the worst kind; those that are still living.
my tectonic plates are shifting and fighting their way out of my chest in an anxious frenzy.
smashing together and grinding slowly at the fault line running from my head to my belly.
my dream girl don't exist
it's just you and i and this t.v.
take time.
my theory is that my magma is in a state of temporary flux; temporally and spatially.
take time.
theoretically then what is happening is my outer plating cannot take the extra pressures and fluidity of
my innards and is battling itself.
the result of which is the formation of strange stalactite-like topographical map of everywhere i've ever been.
that which is now hath already been.
this has been so difficult for me because the noise from my shifting plates is so loud and distracting that i've forgotten that in my head is a film strip.
floating around in the magma is something that stretches every moment in time to infinity in both directions, and something that contains everything in the universe in every second.
that which is to be hath already been.
the clouds have dipped their toes into the earth; flying lower than the tiny biplanes that weave through them. this is the atmosphere's equivalent to deep-sea diving.
the complete army of sky meringue crying ammunition and pictures of far-off pretty girls to the ground.
something is happening that is not happening.
i miss you all terribly terribly much.
