The words were perfect. They entered my ears like blankets soaking up spilled wine on hardwood. They defined my anxious questioning of the gears in my neck. I discovered a portal through the rabbit hole into a dimension of genuine creativity outpouring. I found a hole in the back of my neck that oozed red liquid that wasn't blood and we felt the dynamic shift of weight against our shoulders when I exposed all of the comfortable lies we told ourselves in order to stand up against the broiling tide. We were slammed against the bulkhead as we ran along the beach. Truth becomes like an avalanche. Your disappoint in your self is exposed in the sunlight for all it's worthless. There were cockroaches skittering in the unused dishwasher. The carpet acoustics were to be diminished with loud hardwood. No problems with carpet dwellers and we would have to speak spanish in order to maintain sanity. We would take the stairs and avoid garbage spillage in the elevator and realize how much we are going to have of one and other and how awful it could be. IT could be. Polarized opinions and steadfast, stubborn, resistance to change. I felt as if my life could change forever in a day. It can. It surely can.
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Riff on loneliness. On empty rooms and sleepless heads. Fill the void with a meandering of thought like a vagrant and migratory flock of birds who go north in the winter in flagrant disrespect to social norms. These fever dreams are vivid but mean nothing. They are flashes of intense insanity in sweat soaked sheets and I am not immune to the appeal of them over this healthy reality. I wish for more visual freedom.
