these last few days i've overdone it on stimulation and syntax and lack of sleep; every muscle in my body is jumping and twitching, and i'm losing my trains of thought as fast as i pound them out. but soon i'll be done with this didactic regurgitation, and i'll wish you were here so i could grab into yr hair and smell yr neck and slow everything down just a little, just a bit.
right now i can't remember life without speed and caffeine and insufficiency - everything smells like extremities, and this trip down south to empty ourselves out over yr memory will be a different sort of draining, a different sort of refilling, after all. i'd like to stand on a street corner with a sighing fiddle in my hands and all the sadness and sweetness of the world in my face as i coax a song from squeaky strings, so that maybe that would mean something about the way we'll choose to miss you, could mean as much as dark clothing and tears, as much as a bottle of wine in a bag between my knees. remission, reclusion, reform(ation). re-re-re-vival.
(which one of us is falling into disarray?)
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