Woke up early today. . .and drove to work not fully put together.
I saw the mountains and the sky. The scene was perfect, a master painting at seven a.m.
Its cold and the light shines as if through a crystal and Im listening to music so loud that the whole world has gone silent. Its funny how when the cd skips you can hear all the noise and see all the shit smeared. . .
this place is a mess.
Its funny how we try to be so perfect and in our mistakes we find beauty.
Its funny how all the things I regret the most are the things I cannot control. . .like finding broken glass in the bottoms of my feet so often, my age, time of birth, the deaths of so many people I would have loved to know.
When time is fast Im always so slow. I cant seem to keep up. another shit smear.
And when Im going along quickly the time clicks of a second for every week.
This morning I saw a bird land in a field of asphalt, a scene full of golden light and melting snow, a seagull so far from the sea. . .like me. . . burried in the cold and sharp ice. I cant seem to keep the shards out of my house and I cant get it out from under my skin.
I saw the mountains and the sky. The scene was perfect, a master painting at seven a.m.
Its cold and the light shines as if through a crystal and Im listening to music so loud that the whole world has gone silent. Its funny how when the cd skips you can hear all the noise and see all the shit smeared. . .
this place is a mess.
Its funny how we try to be so perfect and in our mistakes we find beauty.
Its funny how all the things I regret the most are the things I cannot control. . .like finding broken glass in the bottoms of my feet so often, my age, time of birth, the deaths of so many people I would have loved to know.
When time is fast Im always so slow. I cant seem to keep up. another shit smear.
And when Im going along quickly the time clicks of a second for every week.
This morning I saw a bird land in a field of asphalt, a scene full of golden light and melting snow, a seagull so far from the sea. . .like me. . . burried in the cold and sharp ice. I cant seem to keep the shards out of my house and I cant get it out from under my skin.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
You should listen to Glenn Gould. He tried to get his piano playing perfect, but he also hummed as he played and sat on a squeaky chair. It makes for an interesting effect.