Perspective, when it hits, is often late and sometimes unwelcome. What a distraction I am to myself when I wind all the winding parts and my arms turn in tiny monkey circles while I whizz and whir through Slammatown.
Today I was a different shape. From my pants to my heart to my face I was someone else. Even Robert asked if I had cut my hair. He said I looked different. I felt different like I'd flashed forward through time and landed in my pants with the right knowledge to get through a work day but that is all. I felt like a resurrected coma patient months into recovery with no memory of yesterday.
What a piece of work is a Dale, how ignoble in reason, how limited in faculties. I am indeed the quintessence of dust. Sitting on the Peach Deck spraying aeroguard everywhere, including the inside of my mouth in an unhappy accident, perspective crawled home and sat in a charade of faithfulness by my side.
I do not utter a false word. I want to be independent. I'm not ready to hang my hat on someone else and call it home. I am remembering the time I burst out of a flat in Randwick into the freezing night carrying the image of my life as rubble and dusty bricks. I remember stooping to turn a brick over and discovering that the other side had been painted the most incredible aching sky blue. Well I've built that sky blue hut now with the dusted bricks turned outwards in deference to wonder. I'm going to twist the staircases clockwise and carve out arrow slits. I'm boiling the oil.
Today I was a different shape. From my pants to my heart to my face I was someone else. Even Robert asked if I had cut my hair. He said I looked different. I felt different like I'd flashed forward through time and landed in my pants with the right knowledge to get through a work day but that is all. I felt like a resurrected coma patient months into recovery with no memory of yesterday.
What a piece of work is a Dale, how ignoble in reason, how limited in faculties. I am indeed the quintessence of dust. Sitting on the Peach Deck spraying aeroguard everywhere, including the inside of my mouth in an unhappy accident, perspective crawled home and sat in a charade of faithfulness by my side.
I do not utter a false word. I want to be independent. I'm not ready to hang my hat on someone else and call it home. I am remembering the time I burst out of a flat in Randwick into the freezing night carrying the image of my life as rubble and dusty bricks. I remember stooping to turn a brick over and discovering that the other side had been painted the most incredible aching sky blue. Well I've built that sky blue hut now with the dusted bricks turned outwards in deference to wonder. I'm going to twist the staircases clockwise and carve out arrow slits. I'm boiling the oil.
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