The concrete and the sun do strange things to my mind.
Right now I can see the scent rising off my skin in waves. And the small damp curls of hair above my ears. And i can feel the thoughts scrolling through my head, leaving vapour trails. And the discords creep their little trails through the bark of the tree that's half-rotten inside.
And the little chemical monsters coursing around the racetrack. Mostly delusion. I'm turned inside out, something else is more distracting.
old
I am a lonely painter. I live in a box of paints.
(Joni Mitchell, a case of you)
I am a lonely writer. I live in a computer screen.
I am a lonely scientist. I live in a test-tube.
I am a lonely doctor. I live in a stethoscope.
I am a lonely mathematician. I live in a box with parameters constructed of logarithms and imaginary numbers.
I am a lonely Spaniard. I live in a bottle of mescal. Para borracharse.
I am a lonely dog trainer. I live in a dog.
I am a lonely midwife. I live in a box of emergency delivery equipment.
I am a lonely teacher. I live in a stationery cupboard.
I am a lonely tiger. I live in a cage.
I am a lonely antibody. I live in your lymphatic system.
I am a lonely student. I live in a textbook.
I am a lonely single mother. I live in sub-standard council housing.
I am a lonely dictionary. I live on the dustiest shelf.
I am a lonely novel. I live in the mind of an unpublished writer.
I am a lonely receptionist. I live in the speed-dial.
I am a lonely plant. I live in the dirt.
I am a lonely session musician. I live in the P.A.
I am a lonely teenager. I live behind my bedroom door.
I am a lonely airline pilot. I live in the departure lounge.
I am a lonely model. I live in an airbrushed photograph.
I am a lonely cardboard box. I live in the attic.
I am a lonely song. I live in the throat of a cabaret singer.
I am a lonely sponge. I live in a pineapple under the sea.
I am a lonely temp. I live too far away from my place of work.
I am a lonely bartender. I live in a clean pint glass.
I am a lonely blogger. I live in a computer screen.
(Joni Mitchell, a case of you)
I am a lonely writer. I live in a computer screen.
I am a lonely scientist. I live in a test-tube.
I am a lonely doctor. I live in a stethoscope.
I am a lonely mathematician. I live in a box with parameters constructed of logarithms and imaginary numbers.
I am a lonely Spaniard. I live in a bottle of mescal. Para borracharse.
I am a lonely dog trainer. I live in a dog.
I am a lonely midwife. I live in a box of emergency delivery equipment.
I am a lonely teacher. I live in a stationery cupboard.
I am a lonely tiger. I live in a cage.
I am a lonely antibody. I live in your lymphatic system.
I am a lonely student. I live in a textbook.
I am a lonely single mother. I live in sub-standard council housing.
I am a lonely dictionary. I live on the dustiest shelf.
I am a lonely novel. I live in the mind of an unpublished writer.
I am a lonely receptionist. I live in the speed-dial.
I am a lonely plant. I live in the dirt.
I am a lonely session musician. I live in the P.A.
I am a lonely teenager. I live behind my bedroom door.
I am a lonely airline pilot. I live in the departure lounge.
I am a lonely model. I live in an airbrushed photograph.
I am a lonely cardboard box. I live in the attic.
I am a lonely song. I live in the throat of a cabaret singer.
I am a lonely sponge. I live in a pineapple under the sea.
I am a lonely temp. I live too far away from my place of work.
I am a lonely bartender. I live in a clean pint glass.
I am a lonely blogger. I live in a computer screen.
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