The electricity in your house wants to sing

It all leads to an end.
It all leads to one thing.

Starting to realise that I don't know what I want.
And perhaps I need to be told what to do.
Having too many options, and I get lethargic.
Passive.

My brother got married.
I patched holes in walls.

Leif Erikson asked for forgiveness

Martin's ghost on Kevin's bridge
Fulford Driveby
The cross road home
The last critique

This is the coffee shop. Mundane activities become public, because it's the faint human connection of voices floating over head that makes the human condition of loneliness feel not so... lonely.

I'm slowly starting to accept what my life is going to be like for the next 4 months.
And it's a hard acceptance, I can say that much.
I feel this urge to create so badly, but I'm only just starting to draw inspiration from this new pool.

Let's see how it all goes, shall we?

I stopped breathing that night

There are, in the most extreme cases, sudden fits of nostalgia that can grip a person vice like and pincer grip, to act as the most terrifying moments of someone's life.

Something as simple as a shudder at a bus stop, the mere memory gracing skin, can leave a person speechless and salty, can choke a person.

Sometimes, I wonder why I kept trying to so hard.

It's my weak spot

"Thanks for complimenting my eyes, I wish I got that more often."
Regrets, mistakes, accidents, nostalgia, lamentation.

"I'm looking for sugar substitutes"
Insipid, banal, mundane, pointless, tedious.

"I dig a solid convo"
Stout, corpulent, tough, strapping, hulking.

"I do stupid things when I get drunk and horny"
Foolish, absurd, inane, senseless, witless.

Oh you should have called again.

These are the lonely mornings

" but you pushed
pushed enough
enough to make it more than just a radio wave
more than just the static of hearts
more than just glances, touches, accidental brushes
more than just mistakes, regrets for things of non existence. "

Back on the grind.
Drawing inspiration from a new pool.
Old Milky.