Walk With A Purpose

Where did you go? How'd you know which way to go, how did you keep going when you doubted yourself? You have no sense of north and east - how'd you get home?

Your feet sound like four and the trees sound like rain. The streetlight blinks on after you walk under, so you can look back and tell them how you went. There's broken glass in the street that pulses like downed fireflies as you move. Follow, follow, I miss you and I promise you'll feel at home. I daydream at night and I drempt we strode up, met at the corner.

Touch all the leaves you can reach because the textures feel like shaking hand after hand. Run your head thorough pine boughs because the sting on your scalp feels like being alive.

Alpha Beta Cicada

The book in the library advises against blogging for personal reasons. Best save it for the privacy of therapy, it advises. Busy career-builders like yourself must be careful. The personnel can hear about the personal, and they will both come back to get you.

My personal's got my back, and I wish you wouldn't mock.

I'm all titles and subtitles, afraid to tell you what's inbetween. I count the pages until the end of the chapter in all my books, then start reading the next one anyway. I'm thinking short thoughts. I'm thinking it might be best if I wrote short too.


About that, and how.

I'd be happy to have you. What can we do together?

This song sounds like Daft Punk rolling on the carpet at your party playing "Twist and Shout". I can't really make out the words. The made-up girl in the reading on my French exam went to see Daft Punk. You'll love it, let's dance.

The stock market's rising like the 1920s, and if it's good for everybody, why should it ever stop?

I'm in love with the city, hey hey hey
Shop down to the pavement (?), no no no
I can't leave you, no, in the summertime
- Coltrane Motion, "Summertime"