Writer’s Notebook: Destroy the Heart

Posted: October 20, 2015 in graffiti living
Tags: , ,

I’m still so exhausted that it staggers me, and all I can hear is the voices of people in other rooms.

I don’t want these voices, I want words spilling from my own mouth and hands.

My dreams — in my dreams I am still exhausted, so much so that dream after dream I roll over right into another like a body into a ditch.

I don’t know what these images mean, but it is like politics and commerce are more important than spirituality.

People and community and the things that we should be grateful for, the company of family and friends, they are all in the distance whilst you sit there staring at your own world in your head or else staring at the wall.

There are these litte red dots that are earned by sitting for a few minutes at a time.

But half hours are marked out in five-bar-gates like days in a cell.

The body is the cage, which means your mnind is the guilty party, the criminal.

I don’t remember my dreams unless I lie with them.

That’s a new sensation for me, being unable to remember my dreams where moments ago I was lying in them.

The thing is this is what happens when you are so tired, too tired.

Death is not a dragon, god is not a voice, and we are neither dead nor living.


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