and confusion running through them and on and forever, threads winding around and around and leading to nothing more but more chaos, a head full of stuff that's not to be grasped but hurts because everything's tangled or maybe it's collapsing into emptiness, i cant tell. i want mountains and deserts, stars and campfires and roads and love, i want dreams and clouds, fast flames but quiet, snow and ice but ideas, idealistic, iconoclasm, tunes so tangible they're tracks to i don't know, no sight in my eyes, no feeling in my brain, good night.
hello NYC. maybe not the suits and the glass and the height and the cards, but the music and the rockets and the late night dancing mindlessness in chinese basements
