the world is different every time i check in, the nights are different from the aching daylight, didn't hemingway know it all, the unbearable inability to express one's world, and all i can do is run places and fix my face to block all thought. 1million words racing each other in my mind, against the background of friendly yet expectant faces full of question marks, dust in the air swirling and large low hanging orange moons. i want to jump from my 14th floor room into the pool below, and hide under the surface forever, drink the silence, and the pressure, physical.

susan and i went to big sur, a dream of a place