2003-11-08 01:17:10 ET|
its 5 am, and your listening...your listening...to los angeles.
when the smoke is so thick that it hangs at an odd level within your living room, and the television is silent, but showering the other room with noisy shifting lights...your trying to find some one interesting on your friends list to bother, your trying to find something interesting to catch yourself on, pull your mind out, to leave it somewhere else... but its 5 am, and your listening... your listening to the sound of your hard drive spool, your listening to the sound of your mind spin, and your finger are tip tapping out a rythem that goes fast then falls into slow... and your listening to winamp, and its randomly playing that strange eclectic mish mash music collection you have stored mp3 at your fingers tips and mouse clicks away... and its 5am, and its 5am, and its... its.. its .5 a.. m..
and your listening, to your own minds voice pronounce and spell out these paragraphs. reading them to you, you to them interchanging, re-arraning, explaining, straining, but not paining, making you think, think about how weird reading this was, think about how, when, and mostly think about why, this was written...why would some one write anything like this, about this, with this much effort, and try to conceal it this much...
but its 5am, its only 5am, and none of this is real...