Impressions

Anyway, I always said that construction followed me everywhere I go and I have proved to be right again. I sit here on the marked steps of punctured drills and burning lakes inside my throat and I dream of the ancient West.

Things are wonderful here, but they feel somehow still shut to me. I can not see through the cat's glass eye and my hair (by now) is too sensitive to the sun. Also, it should be cold and crystal and shades of blue in night, but it's not. It's hot and thick and always day and I wonder about the glistening street lamps and why they have all been shut off and I long for the deep kiss of winter...

But shades of blue are brighter now, nonetheless, and although I am still mute (my voice escaped with my name in this wind!) I see the colors freshly painted on a world of cut crystal and aged marble faces in my memory...

I do not remember color and so these are the days of discovery. (Although I weep in all cotton). Actually, I don't weep. In fact, I feel very little emotion at all (for me). I feel as if I have always been here (in this life) and have no where to go.

But I burn behind a mask of nation and long to cry out to all of them "it's me!!"

But I am a stranger and although I have peered deep into her soul, to her mine has never existed. And I know now that it no longer exists (perhaps it never did), that secret space of release and comfort and I sigh with the same cynical isolation that i have crossed worlds to defeat.

"I should have known."

I see you with my stinging eyes. You meet them with the void.

cigarette case: портсигар