..i feel like this

credit: maurizio cattelan

in the moment

drenched and dredged with the waste and excess of lost feelings, overly optimistic goals, personal battles, broken friendships, and missed calls.
its heavy - the worn fishing lines tangled around my legs, the tattered shirts and jeans slopped on my body. they do not belong to me. i gave all my belongings away. i can only own myself.
this liquid, no, it isn't liquid anymore. it's this viscous mass. it's filling my mouth and nose. there's a cold, clammy sensation all over my skin. levels rising. so perfectly. no air bubbles or pockets of air. i'm surrounded, becoming soggy and grey.
my thoughts are polluted. i can't tell which belong to me.
i want my spirit and will to be broken. so i can mend.


moth - burial & four tet

for a minute...

a place where there are no grey areas - just black, white, and color. entirely immersive. extremes with no in betweens. artificial light and medicine. trompe-l'oeil and mirrors. parallel and perpendicular.
a sound without voices - only those of the natural world. minus the lyrics and minus the tunes. a rhythm without a pattern. at the back or foreground of one's mind. the fundamental units.
a game of tug-of-war - and the fibers are unraveling. the muscle tears and rebuilds even stronger. which side will prevail. m p e

- | _ _ _ _ _ | _ _ _ |

photo by Bryan Graf