As if out of the blue, yet seemingly long forgotten, though time being relative, long is a matter of perspective, this was supposed to mean something, profound, even. Revealing as all get out. Kinda of like this, but oh so much more. Beyond my control, by design. As if it was meant to be not, I seem to do it regularly and each time (oh, listen {oo wah oo} do you want to know a secret {ooo wah ooo} do you promise not to tell {oh wah oh oh} closer.... ahem), I want there to be no way out and still somehow, I find ways. Ways to forget. Ways to laugh at all the momentary mundane drama we create as if we are so important and what we think and do matters so much and laguishing in a dirty bath of wonder and self-pity, silently screaming who cares to the universe over and over again singing hello darkness my old friend and meandering as if simultaneously nothing really matters and nothing else matters when we all know nothing from nothing leaves nothing... oh! the places we could go (or could have gone, perhaps, but the record of a life is broken because it never really started and it succumbed to time and the elements in storage all these years (before the deluge, even... before time itself, no doubt - see the madness and emo, if you dare) and no one seems to really want to know what makes me tic anymore, if anyone ever did, in case it matters.
