Cotton candy vapor floats in the space behind my eyes no matter which way I turn my head; a not-unpleasant sensation. A woman with chalk-blue irises watches my movements with an interested detachment. She's a master of her hydrogen-fused fortress, built of the skeletons of socially acceptable insanity. She shapes words in the lovely hues of sculpting steel honesty.
I give her a mental nod of deepest appreciation in forgotten Tibetan customs. I hum egalitarian echoes of triangle-length syllables in a lost khoomei style-- Ay, You, Em. I shape a biofeedback loop hidden in the clouds of double-edged fantasy: where I lay out pieces of thankfulness owed, by the hour, day and week.
10:28 p.m. - 2014-12-18
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