sweet sarah sighing

I think of her and prepare to weep.

She's right, you know.
A good hour and twelve precise minutes of pre-dawn clarity for whatever that's worth and then, too quickly, the world returns its lusty blustery frustrating gristing wrestling flexing and bending but so slowly ending ways.

4:48 Psychosis

Kane could have written 22:48:00 Psychosis since truly the one hour and twelve exacting minutes of sanity in a day requires the broadest tone-deaf tongueless accuracy one can muster. Details perceived - painfully clear interactions unavoidably read and real - words cannot bind them together faithfully.

The fragility of the ant thorax, no less amazing than ceaseless noiseless REM that fogs in the airport, shutting it and the town, hell, the entire tri-county region directly unavoidably down once Seroquel trickles into the fuel tank.

How do I go?
How do I go?
How do I go?