Time to Find Me.

i see the faces and patterns in brick facades and patches of lawn... in my headphones is the sound of now-or-never...

dear party people,

im hyped but not amped: the moment has come and i can either accept it and my place within a certain context, or else let it pass, tracing an invisible sword over my head like the tip of an airplane wing cutting across a city skyline.

little wing, that's me...

i feel it happening though. despite myself or because of myself... the torn things have grown together. a new fabric has been created from the spaces in between.

The World Wide Web--a Grecian blue sky/screen and a grove of trees: the branches are draped with bits of white ribbons, upon which stories are written.

Real life is a waking dream.

Real life is our playground:

someday we'll be dead and buried

and no one will know how we smelled

or the sound of our laughter.

they won't know how we felt when

we read the headlines that became

the bullet pts of history.

they wont know how candy tasted to us or how the nano-second of blackness between commercials gave one a fleeting feeling of freedom or how it was that the phone was something that kept interrupting,

...and when it didn't then you sat waiting for it to ring.

they wont know how nasty starbucks tastes cuz starbucks will taste good to them.

they wont understand why we didn't do it while we had a chance.



...meanwhile, down in the subway...

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