my heart's been breaking but backwards or in slow motion or in retrospect. I often feel tranquilized or am I slumbering. Either way this is desolation and tomorrow is happening like yesterday-- economies of scale, repeatedly returning to sustained absurdity chaos conflict. We are creatures of conflict.
I believe in freedom of expression, creative destruction, willful agitation.
We are waves, moved by currents, particlized mixing sunshiny storm air, circulate fold backwards and into the desolation. Sine wave ultimately leveled; time ceaselessly stomping across space an interwoven tapestry of talk touches and moments unfelt but past.
Empty bars protect us. Munch on breakfast sandwich. Converse on the round. Enter donations ohm-exhale structured stupidity as peace lily filters the noise. Tomorow turned back.. folded into desolation-- memory ricochet games resume their volume and velocity in plastic skull space. & Time. & how.
Familiarity breeds solemn discomfort. I sleep and wonder what to cook. Tree branches and grass blades are not speaking, but wind says something at the screen: desolation. Dipping into driveway cracks brushes the getaway car I am afraid to have and at the world edge let's jump. The acceleration of gravity is 9.8 meters per second squared.
Memoryhouse – Sleep Patterns from Jamie Harley on Vimeo.
