shiver awake.
Give me a reason to wake up tomorrow. Tell me that everything is fine, and that no matter the outcome of this hand-spun moment to moment diary of consciousness that we refer to as "living", that I'll be remembered after I've gone the way of the dodo.
I know what you're thinking: this is probably not what you want to hear or read or see or know, and I'm sorry for that, but I am nothing if not direct and uncensored on the interwebs. Madness and self-abuse are my specialties, I admit, and while I can sing more songs of disaffection and loneliness, the perfection of it eludes me still, so I shall continue on in the mad nervous rush to include every single phrase into the contents of everything else. "Holographic writing", I call it, wherein the sum is contained in every part.
Thank you, Mr Morrison, for introducing me to this world of prim and chaos and randomness. I am random anyway, so the concept of a random world is not that surprising to me, and this is how I think when I am alone. I know I've said that I'm fine, but I would want you to ask anyway, as I am fragile and prone to breaking down the tiniest detail and turning it into fodder for the late-night parade of parasitic wordplay. The cold air spreads from windows through curtains and breaks my concentration...
They just killed the people on the TV, I am shocked and amused and am waiting for something to go wrong again, as is my wont. Someday I'll fail to breathe, and what then? Will there be a soul who remembers my time in this shell, spreading my sigils and strands of memories, like quantum strings in 5th dimensional compressions. I know I've said that I don't care, but something in me does, I swear, and I'm not smiling but I am. I smile when I mean it. Give me a meaning, add contentment to these words and all the fallacies dissolve into meaninglessness and I will explode from effect preceding cause. My postcard has been backdated to last summer, and it says "Wish I was There". Rings around fingers, and I will never get it back, but I don't care. I have a reason, I've found reason in random and madness and chaos and rhythm and music, and honestly, who could ask for anything more?
I know what you're thinking: this is probably not what you want to hear or read or see or know, and I'm sorry for that, but I am nothing if not direct and uncensored on the interwebs. Madness and self-abuse are my specialties, I admit, and while I can sing more songs of disaffection and loneliness, the perfection of it eludes me still, so I shall continue on in the mad nervous rush to include every single phrase into the contents of everything else. "Holographic writing", I call it, wherein the sum is contained in every part.
Thank you, Mr Morrison, for introducing me to this world of prim and chaos and randomness. I am random anyway, so the concept of a random world is not that surprising to me, and this is how I think when I am alone. I know I've said that I'm fine, but I would want you to ask anyway, as I am fragile and prone to breaking down the tiniest detail and turning it into fodder for the late-night parade of parasitic wordplay. The cold air spreads from windows through curtains and breaks my concentration...
They just killed the people on the TV, I am shocked and amused and am waiting for something to go wrong again, as is my wont. Someday I'll fail to breathe, and what then? Will there be a soul who remembers my time in this shell, spreading my sigils and strands of memories, like quantum strings in 5th dimensional compressions. I know I've said that I don't care, but something in me does, I swear, and I'm not smiling but I am. I smile when I mean it. Give me a meaning, add contentment to these words and all the fallacies dissolve into meaninglessness and I will explode from effect preceding cause. My postcard has been backdated to last summer, and it says "Wish I was There". Rings around fingers, and I will never get it back, but I don't care. I have a reason, I've found reason in random and madness and chaos and rhythm and music, and honestly, who could ask for anything more?
Labels: pop culture, writing
posted by nicholas reed at 5:11 PM
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**Give me a reason to wake up tomorrow.**
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