monroe2go
Can we start over? No, our time is running out, and besides I haven't got any room left in me for any more of you.
I'll see you in another life, where we are both fish.
I won't make any promises, but you're about to see something really big. We'll come together and become a nebula, spinning new stars where old stories were.
You must believe me. You've got to hear me. There is something different from this. You've got to find it, you've got to listen, we don't have to live like this. This cement city built up around us, we just have got to get away from this.
Maybe it would be better if we weren't, but we are, so let's go, I guess. Where you go, I go. Where I go, you go. What is mine is yours and what is yours is yours.
i wish I could tell you how it was. But as long as I am only able to speak in half truths, i can only tell you what I know.
I want to be strict. I want
Don't follow them. Don't follow these. They will lead you where you may not want to go. Oh wait, I'm sure you will want to go there, to unfold there, to follow the stream of nonsense to the end where you will realize that the stars look different to you, now. You can see them, not as if you are looking back in time, but as if you are looking back in space.
Deliberations and decorations. It sounds like a book my mother might read. My mother might write it. I want to decorate. I do not want to deliberate. Not any more than I have to. Summarize. Surmise. It sounds like a book I might read. I might write it.
I've never hired a crew. Once I was part of a crew, I think, but it lasted only a brief time, as I left in the second day. Some folks, I just think they might work better on their own. Or better as a pair. The fewer opinions involved, the easier it is to get your way. Hah.
That one hot hot heat song, or just a song stuck in your heat in the hot hot heat. Sweat collects in to little beads that slide down your legs and your arms, and in your head things repeat themselves and bounce off the walls of your otherwise empty mind.
Turbine blade, a turbine stage, playing with powder in the bathroom, pretending to be lurking in some dark, forbidden attic. Memories from the third person, sounds of a jet engine, something terrible, terrible to ingest.
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writing since 2011 · 40 entries · 39 days shown up
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