Silence. Every day I go to sleep with music ringing in my ears and the sticky silence of noise-pop feedback lingering in my ear canals. Every night I wonder where this silence lies and it always surprises me next morning that I fell asleep, wondering how it would always surprise me the next morning that I would fall asleep wondering, that.
Moments stretch like smoke in warm air and I find myself liking the designer who painted the ceiling. Elementary stucco. Today was spent inside watching people die every column, listening to notes broadcast around the world before it reached my ears. Surrealism is overrated in that it happens every day; surrealism is underrated in that it's never noticed, like the cigarette lighter the janitor always puts on the top of the light next to the trash can smoking moments and tossing them away before picking up tips and cleaning up rooms. What was it that it said? I sucked on my cigarette like I was giving my sadness head. Spent hours here trying to find it back. Lost, can't find it now, haystack needle situation without any magnets.
Someday I will record the music of my life and play it on top of a movie and show people and yell look look synchronization I have been meant to live this life, things fit like puzzle pieces. Look can you see please. Look look you are young again.