sigh … machine …. wired hardrive conscience … tv saturated morality … desensitized blind stumbling …. eyes the very essence of jaded warmth …. green or blue depending on my mood … Tristine would say olive green and baby blue …. crayon reading that she is … i presume this …. i don’t know what i am right now … just that things are changing …. and i’m dizzy from running, dehydrated for lack of substance i suppose … my grammar is getting horrid …. hell, i’m writing right now without thought to those formal guidances of english …. the form seems to be truer to my thoughts though … fragments and observations … lots of descriptive fat …. i do love bread on my freakin’ chicken ….

i awake slit-eyed among sunlit evenings where shadows pull semi-familiar creatures from a childhood dream sidewalk … i run circles within myself and blow soap bubbles self-indulgently and defiantly for my age … it is all one great frolicking mess of summer discovery and ice cream joy …. my light refracting fascination with rain water and rainbows … crackling beauty still in mold …. my self-realized consciousness and i still play games with my feet and the cracks and dandelions on the sidewalk …. i swear i will even in the folds of wrinkles i will surely get from all the rest of the days in mourning for these moments ….

hmm … seems the fluid motion of inspiration is lost to me once again … i am barren with nothing of past presumptions … no fruit, no children, no scribbled memories…. simply i cannot remember myself here … it is like stepping into the past even as i no longer exist in this crowded space of preoccupation