Saturday, December 19, 2009

Being Spoken For.

The volume turns up, and you're a million miles away from home. You knew you were, and you've been so for a while, but you didn't realize how far away you were until this night when the blood was pumping in both sides of your neck and the wind is blowing loud and the volume just keeps turning up. The sound is in another language, but it's a familiar pattern, so you pretend not to pay attention because it's the polite thing to do, right? Even though you're being spoken for.

Somewhere a million miles away is the underground where you can just tell the void has started shrinking, even though you're not there. It's closing up and you imagine how much easier it will be to get to the bathroom. There's paste all over the ground there where there's oil here.

The volume keeps turning up, so you decide to lay back and listen to your own blood. It has a nicer rhythm, anyway.