27 hours of dizzy dichotomies. ghosts that fall around my roots are felt to the extremes of my energetic tentacles. all i can think is free the octopus.
i think that i am played with or foolish and regardless of which energy i allow to compel me, the push and pull is not a sensation i long for with this level of transformation. part of getting to the clarity of fullfillment in the many areas i desire satisfaction is allowing choice. change requires choice.
voices run like syrup across the flesh of my mind. enlightenment waiting in the innermost pockets of my most private thoughts. all the words that they read and only a fraction of the overspill. overkillage. mileage into the darkest abyss in moments of shame and industrialized patterns of off-center technique and shadows of virgins with a soundtrack of rock or roll. the darkness comes in moments when i hear shouting or billiards crack or "fuck the who". i want to have my own double bass so i can climb on top of it and make music like i've never heard. i want to tell you things. i do not wish to be your nin. anais in tatters on a dance floor under the moonlight, wondering who she really is to you.
as i finally release boundaries again. worn of trying them on. learning how they work. after all these twists and fits life turns the table to a speed so slow it is impossible to know when i've landed or if we are still creeping to the next click. boom. power is an illusion that is undaunting to me for smoke and mirrors are one of the simplest of the complex games. the ability to recognize one's self and find your way home without the physical reflection of vision... with power may come the golden cow but how becomes however and when the smoke clears the reflections are infinite to the point of becoming mundane.
i look back at an idyllic sound that i use to hear in my mind and realize that the sounds i hear each day are sweeter than those of another time, be it my past or fantasy and i realize in the know of no truman show there is no need for projection. no call for future this or past that. only you. and i am you to she and him and then we each come around again. please know what draws us forward as we let nothing enter between us that is not guided by voices of our own desire. set us free.
