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I saw a pink light outside my window last night, and on any other day I would have blasted muna on, framed it very well with my camera and told at least 4 people how it was a beautiful moment for me. But last night I was too busy trying to pick up my pieces that had run down the drain. I try to levitate to seek out my body from a bird's eye view these days. but the truth is; these are the only days I feel like myself. When I have to reach down the drain with the entire length of my left hand and find the stained pieces of flesh that had accidentally washed down. On other days; when the light shines through my window, when every word I write using the little keyboard on my phone shifts the world around me, when I forget the sheet that they had lain below me to protect me from falling. On those days I feel like a clone of my own self. The truth is, some parts of my body have meshed in with the drain, I think. But some keep reaching out for the silly red plastic cup and the hand that had passed me it. Some parts of my body have meshed with my keyboard, some with the notes booming through my speaker. The notes booming through my speaker hold me tightly though; on some days I would tell fifteen hundred people of the way televangelism has spoken to me with a voice of a lover or a parent or maybe both; on some days i would take a page out of king crimson's gore-y face and talk to the wind as if its my only friend. But to be fair, befriending the wind means you have no one to talk to on sunny days.

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