wounds are still open that i thought were licked clean months ago:
i'm unsettled, in an incessant state of perpetual motion
. i'm i'm not doing something i'm worried about what i should be doing.
there's a blank page in my head, a blank tertiary
application form. just blank static
with blinklets of light where the lamp shining into my eyes has left an impression. when the light fades there's only static left, like on an untuned television
channel or the place between radio
stations. endless movement in a stagnant
i've started writing anonymous
little messages and sayings and putting them in a letterbox a couple of blocks away. it makes me feel good, i'm not entirely sure why yet.
i saw the shawshank redemption
again, and it also made me feel good. the part about institutionalization
, and how hope
can make us free of it. "there are places in the world that aren't made out of stone - there's something inside that's yours, that they can't touch."