| Thoughts stuffed in pockets |
June 19, 2008 |
[I am six years old. Sitting on pavement,looking down. Concentrated, always. An ant has been walking in a circle for ten minutes or so. This invisible shape has a tiny circumference, and the ant continues to circle it strictly. I decide to create a triangle with my index fingers and my thumbs. I surround it. At the sight of my fingers, the ant begins to run around inside the fortress I have made for it. Looking for escape. Disorientated. Although I do not interrupt its wandering, it panics.]
And although I never intended on fleeing, i feel trapped when i look at the barriers. These separating structures are only visible at certain times, during certain days. I was quite fine before she told me. Numbly, thoughtlessly following a list of goals I had created on one of my better days. I know it was not part of my plan and I couldn't go anyway, but acknowledging the fact that I would never take the risk is absolutely killing me.
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and it continued to trouble me during one of my drunken hours. so I scribbled on a piece of paper:
FUCK SUMMER GOALS 2008!
I am going to become a gypsy.
summer goals #2:
- learn to pick-pocket
- practice eastern european accent
- buy a tambourine
- find a pet goat
and everything was perfect, until i began vomiting and I realized that things are not looking promising.
i am as unflattering as i sound, perhaps even more so.
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thoughts stuffed in pockets, i'll staple it together and call it bad weather.
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| (2 comments) | Erotic Polititians |
