12.

no longer some alien place. just landed and home and calmly and safely folded into what was put on hold. what was and will continue to be. and for three days, my legs ache. i try to readjust to east coast time, and sleep pattern and the constant caged and forced interactions we're prodded into within the retail universe. it drains. you feel an open mind start to close up like a freezing flower bud. it hurts and recedes like an eye exposed to a light shined too bright and too fast. interactions with peers don't make sense. with loved ones feels strained. i want to laugh harder or be entertained easier or be held by something or someone. i almos had the wicked urge to listen to a full rush of paul simon. something flat and positive, but an easy high. a full draw. a forGODDAMNEDsure type of thing. i want to be able to be affected and unaffected on purpose.

eleventh album: volcano choir's repave.

i can only imagine this to be compared to hospital bed boredom. i look at pictures of multiple old friends and can only see that their skins are laid taut and violently tight against their skulls and know i can feel their bones underneath my thumbs and in my palms. or something like this. it even happens with celebrities.