Tuesday, July 3, 2012

I woke up feeling like world destruction. It was cold and grey and I can hear the hollowing moans of the trucks on the highway and the ships beyond. It echoes into the forest and into the walls of my tearful apartment. Sometimes I comfort myself by pretending im in a Dali painting (the phantom cart 1933, or one second before awakening from a dream caused by the flight of a bee around a pommegranate 1944) - in a cosmogenic ecstacy, the apartment along with me, swaying, sinking, bobbing on an open sea, the trucks and ships melt away to become moans of dying creatures on sand dunes. (giants?) Everything grey and dying, collapsing within itself, I am tiny. 
It rains outside. I hold a bucket out my window to catch the said dying creature's tears. I must have been there for a full hour. My fingers wrinkled, blistered and peeled. My mother says I have a vivid imagination but its what makes the world bearable. no?