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My room upstairs.   —   Macabre Mind

My mind is like an empty white room with a small open window and a narrow wooden door. I'm locked inside, alone, shuffling my feet around a bare floor and running my fingers along cold smooth walls. There's a wonderful breeze but the window isn't big enough so I have to stand directly in front of it to catch the air. The view out the window keeps changing like some old View Master slide, giving glances of images from American mountaintops to African jungles to Tibetan temples. I think I saw Grace Kelly walking in the rain. But my empty room is as empty as anything that is ever really empty and I pace and I sit and I roll on the floor but it never really fills up with anything more than the view and a breeze so small it feels it feels as big as a whisper.

Posted 10.21.2003



Work is fucking evil.
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