Like sand through the hourglass

Fear of actions or their consequences or rather the motives behind them - I don't know, it's all (ir)relevant, relative, ambiguous.

All this because I try to believe there's no other way; that this is the right one, the way to avoid mistakes... but trying to finish is so tireing and people require compromise and I lack patience and understanding.

I need to stop following my own advice again.

Flawless reasoning, am i doin it rite?

Mostly I wish I didn't do everything I did and did more of some of those things I don't do enough instead, not that I know what those things would be - or if I do, I generally regard them as actions better omitted. The problem is simple and the formula to fix it all doesn't seem very complicated. Does this mean I'm silly for being afraid, if it's fear, or that I'm perhaps being smart for a change, approaching cautiously and giving thought to what possible damage may be caused.

Thinking this much about anything was never really worth it, because even when you fuck up you're kind of glad you did instead of not doing anything about it, except this is a retarded generalization and I realize you may not agree. I mean, fuck logics and consequences, I'd rather die in a fire than be reasonable sometimes. just sometimes though. Most of the time it's something quite different and really all the same, without the bad taste in my mouth.

If I had the off-switch for my brain I sometimes wish I had, I'm pretty sure I would never use it; I'd just find comfort in knowing there was one. Now it feels a bit more hopeless, even with the exact outcome, but mostly because of reasons.

Stuff
ed, any
think/g i am
you, we are
pleas u're
breaking me on the
table, against the wall
down the hall
cross the line, do it all
word play, word play, decay
tapp, ing away
how do you spell
s/torm,
sil-
ent ities holding me down
hmm, mmm, mmh

Wall of sound

I miss this; if you're part of this, then it'd only be fair to admit I miss you too, occasionally, for brief moments. The way the chords of an acoustic guitar reproduce with my soul, like when you poke fun at me and find the weak spot and I wonder if you know, if you know, do you know. Do you not realize.

You play the piano and you whisper words and when you are quiet there is nothing. I worship you in the silence of that nothingness, the nothing that is everything that it consumes. What I say means nothing, unless they are the words I try to keep from you to prolong whatever we have now.

But you don't know about the violins, they weep when you're gone and compose in your name. The violins that laugh in your presence. The laughter covers everything, blinds my vision and certainly I'll never see enough, if I'm looking in the wrong direction. If it's dark I'll still hear you breathe, are you still there, are you there, you're there, you're close but you're far away; enough just enough.

Excitement I thought I'd never feel again, but I'm still doing it upside-down and I think I'm happy. I'm glad. I'm content.

Instead of trying to make a list, I'll try this

Apparently a stolen couch does not help one at a lack of words, but it's amazing how little things you don't care all that much about make all the difference in the world, when you're not surrounded by the four familiar walls you're used to. The thing that's most concerning I suppose is that anything I might have to say hasn't really been practiced in any way and rehearsing never felt all that appealing. Basically I'm causing obstacles for myself here.

Basically I produce large amounts of shit.