Secret. Parietal. Discord.

I've been talking for days. Looking across rooms, over tables, reaching eyes... and forward for my drink, to continue. There's been some indulgence and much enjoyment. I'm waiting for someone to tell me to take a break... and for me to listen... and we'd all be still for a little while.

There's words on a page and then words in my head. But the words in the air... well, those i have less control of. Removing my filter and transfiguring feelings to words, becoming my own live translator. It brings on an objective state rivaling a psychotropic sentience; in other words, not always a comfortable place to be with eyes upon my person. As if in the company of one, there's actually three, as i step aside and watch. Sometimes i feel as much the listener to myself as the friend i speak with. Depending on present state, can be arresting or otherwise very fucking disconcerting. Bringing on the neurotic question, "If we leave our body, can we always come back?"



This is me trying to look thoughtful when i'm actually just really tired...