where this escapes from, i am quite unsure – grammar, regiment of another, strict structure, the demand of all feeling – but it is, certainly, an escape. there is surely nothing wrong with seeking asylum at some desperate point, especially since all other retreat is inconsiderate? today, my head was a boiling pot of meat and vegetable stew, with little pieces of my own human flesh thrown in to sweeten the arrangement. i spoke as a hollow mechanical shell, lost in verses of despair from the music shores. i glided clumsily along, with my hair blowing against the wind, and my fingertips numb, only to your warmth. my thoughts were equal to those of a confused child; this, i am sure, since i am no more of anything than any other of the skipping, frolicking, prancing and screeching creatures that populated the ground beneath and around me. perhaps we are, in fact, not at all confused? and, perhaps, we all live inside our heads, dancing to our own sweet, sweet melodies, fucking and cutting off only who we want? ah, but here is where the wild things doth grow, where the grass is brown and the devil teeth glow. and how many friends do you have, that you don’t know about? how many people read you daily, yet hide away, like a cast-out shadow into the dust? i wonder, now, if you were ever as large as you thought you were, or if you were, in fact, far vaster than you could ever have comprehended?
