it's as though my mind and body are two opposing forces. i should shake loose this skin
and find another shelter.
find a home filled with winter. all at once the world feels beautiful.
it's more than i can bear.
20090118
.kid.naps.
A few hours have gone by, and I've run out of songs to hum to myself. Or rather, I'm at a junction of not knowing lyrics to sing, and having a monophonic - a perpetually off key one at that - voice incapable of achieving any song I would like to sing.
I think that the car has stopped moving, at least for the moment. My back aches from from bouncing over the poorly constructed, underfunded Michigan highways. Something collided with my right hand at some point, and I will have to remind myself to check for superficial injuries later.
I wait for the engine to start up again.
When was the last time I ate? Perhaps the peanut butter toast from this morning.
And last drink?
Water, I suppose.
That was all a good number of hours ago, and the exact number escapes me. I've always declined wearing watches, and my cell phone is, to borrow a phrase, lost in the sauce. At a loss for songs to hum, my mind drifts only half voluntarily towards food, and what supper might hold in store.
I might wind up improvising with Ramen packets and frozen vegetables again.
All I know is that when this trunk is re-opened, and the brisk Canadian wind whips across my face, I'll be long gone from the land of the only people free enough, the home of the only people brave enough, to scheme up deep fried taco shells.
I think that the car has stopped moving, at least for the moment. My back aches from from bouncing over the poorly constructed, underfunded Michigan highways. Something collided with my right hand at some point, and I will have to remind myself to check for superficial injuries later.
I wait for the engine to start up again.
When was the last time I ate? Perhaps the peanut butter toast from this morning.
And last drink?
Water, I suppose.
That was all a good number of hours ago, and the exact number escapes me. I've always declined wearing watches, and my cell phone is, to borrow a phrase, lost in the sauce. At a loss for songs to hum, my mind drifts only half voluntarily towards food, and what supper might hold in store.
I might wind up improvising with Ramen packets and frozen vegetables again.
All I know is that when this trunk is re-opened, and the brisk Canadian wind whips across my face, I'll be long gone from the land of the only people free enough, the home of the only people brave enough, to scheme up deep fried taco shells.
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