04/05/2010

I try to be outside at night,
try to feel the evening
and the changing of the seasons
in my rhythm, on my skin

although lately I don’t find
my peace of mind in rolling easy, steady fours.
I know I mean to knock but I somehow
end up kicking in the door.

the strange burnt smell of opened rotting wood. All that carbon slowly coming unfixed. Autumn is in, we’re full up to the ceiling with it and guests, daylight savings and all the decent long weekends are behind us and I’ve been at this job two months, ‘homeless’ going on that. Last night I came home and drank half a bottle of scotch and a beer. The beer was a bad idea.

it’s 20 to 4, I’m 23 + change, and I can’t sleep. work in 3 hours. Again.

I’m not sure that my stream of non sequitr consciousness is fit for mass consumption. Hell, it’s the internet, I guess you all knew what you were in for, hmm?

I blew off a social thing last week because I couldn’t find my coat. All I really want to do with my life is help people and relax. Alternately, not concurrently. There’s a lot in my head again, the past all blended. I try to pull out chunks of things, I walk round old places in there, whole and not so. In the world they warp and distort as people scuff, erode and fix their way through life and them, but in my head they’re distilled, cleansed of the irrelevant ’til each is composed entirely of the salient and germane. The trivial and dull fall out, bricks without mortar to cling to their brothers. These half truths shot through with proper holes, alien places with a vinyl, mint-in-the-box smell, seem better to me than the real. I’d rather be in here and within myself than out in them again. Yet I bother to remember.

Curious.

I have, of course, gone quite mad. Only thing for it, really.

4am. sleeeeeeeeep.