kinda slept last few days
left side of the head still fuct
sitting on the plane next to a weedy awkward intelligensia man with thick yellow glasses hunched over a book explaining everything about emotions
I'm staring out the window
twisting in the winds of Martha Wainwright
wondering if such a book would really explain it all
or somehow just damn it up into stagnant reservours useless for any purpose but breeding pests
and turning me into a likewise gollym creature...
oh, answers given to the mysteries of the world
why can't I trust you?
I'm very grateful I can trust myself
halfway home now