I miss my sense of humor
Spring time is largely assumed to be the season for the renewal of life, but it is not true for me. For me, I need autumn, when the temperature outside first hits that degree when I can feel the breathe i draw filling my lungs. I invite it in slowly to enjoy the cold, I hold it consciously, and then enjoy the visible results of what I did not need. It's the healthy version of cigarette smoking. And so I am alive. I jump up in the newly cold air to the tunes of Coldplay. I feel my muscles work as I keep jumping. They are so efficient and so damn sure of themselves, like every other organ except one.

Second Act Break ... When You're The Furthest Distance From Your Goal
An ice cube melting in a cup of summer water changes nothing, and so I melt, without hope of a cold wind to stay that course until I figure out how to be a bigger ice cube or something else altogether.

First, and probably, last
it's 5am and i want to talk to someone but who do you talk to at 5am? i'm the only one around and I'm the one with all this confusion; i'm no help. and why DO i want to talk? i resent that need ... i fucking hate it. i go rocking back and forth on this, getting me-sick, but what are you suppose to do when you don't know what your suppose to do? All that I have are stupid choices. this is the problem ive got. that's the problem i've had.

i set my sketch book down and a wave of a hundred legs slips up onto the page. i ask, "do you know what i'm suppose to do?" his head shifts left-to-right, and, embarressed or annoyed, he steps-steps-steps-steps-steps-steps (etc) down almost immediately, blending into the carpet. gone.

there isn't much comfort at 5am, but music does what it can. i've been listening to track 12 of hard candy and i'll go back to doing that now.