perplexion, the wee hours, and that cigarette

i see it happening again and believe me mister, i dont like it either. the late nights with their gaping mouths and unsteady voices that are strange and inaudible to other ears. and me. sitting. holding that pillow. holding anything. anyone. like i always do. usually wide awake. not focusing on the movie. smoking too much. thinking too much. that film ive talked about before.
[sure you remember]
that constant strip deeply imprinted with - well - everything. flashing and flashing away. clicks here. skips and breaks there. the cat, the suffocation game. the crushed pills in the coca cola and the heart attack. those days.
[its like i write in stop-motion]
its just that im not good at dealing with such a rush of things. much less real memories stuck on fast forward/repeat and a broken stop button.
so theres me.
[yes we love our familiar formats dont we?]
cringing and getting very pissed off. unrolling my attitude and making sure the corners are straight before wrapping myself in it. apologies forming like soft mist deep in the back of my brain as if they know they will be needed soon. trying to be strong enough to combat the hurt ill leave for them to mend. its sad eh? but necessary to hold on to my few shaky relationships that have managed to make it this far. those poor little stragglers.
[here i abandon my subject]
i hate that i smell like menthol skydancers and too much hand sanitizer/lotion. its ridiculous. im going to quit smoking. right now. i mean no one wants to smell cigarettes when they hug you, yea?
ive been breaking things down alot lately. trying to make out borders and feel out the shapes. all of those little idiosyncrisies and the prverbial "warm feelings". the chance of touch and the cold wall of the heart if its had too much to drink.
[hrm]
its just everything is never the same for long. i may find a deep crack and catch hold, almost there now, please come on, and then the world will shift or sigh and i fall back.
[sudden sweet rushing air]
hello mister beginning i am very familiar with your terrain.
people just dont realize that are lines sometimes. they never think they can help or fix a bad feeling or mistake because everything else is strung together, attached at some sick center point. inescapable. its never as bad as it feels. its just a matter of realizing the strings are only strings and scissors are everywhere in todays society. take them apart. sex from love. comfort from pain. knowledge from understanding. like little stitches and nothing more. feel them out with your fingers if you have to. come on. do this. its seperation, and its possible.
[alas]
but i guess then again. to some. the effort isnt worth letting go of the subconcious connection when the world lacks the tangible ones.


last night i dreamt of strangers seen from the window of a moving car and rats squirming softly in aspen. the girl moving slowly over the grass to the house and the angular point of her hair. meeting the kids in a shop then being chased out. so much tension where there once was only simple surrealism.

fuck it.