Fuck the feeling hall monitored, the days that squeeze out slow and enter my blood-stream like a morphine drip.
I’ve been grateful not feeling much for the most part, but ok: Detach the I.V.
Lost something… I didn’t cry injustice or rail at the tangle-thorned fates. But since we’re talking, it does all seem sort of 2nd draft- prewritten, preordained; stage set and curtain-thats a wrap.
It cuts. I donno, I got all this freedom and possibility to be mindful of, wow.
But. . . when you lose something, none of that matters. Worse even when the value of that is forced into the evaluation circle. Surrounded on four sides by doubts, strangers jeering, ‘it wasn’t that good’, ‘all lies’, ‘you didn’t see clearly’.
We close this. It won’t close? Well, close it again. I’m allowed to take my impressions, these were mine at least. Keep something sacred.