I want to write.
I want to write like I used to, with a sense of joy and strength underneath. Somehow I hold back, something is not right. I am dizzy from thoughts and sounds and the life that surrounds me.
I am swept up in a constant current of broken-down houses and rainwater gutters, stoplights and ambulances. There are no stars here, I wish I could wish but I’ll inhale the smog that passes for air in the passageways between streets.
Spinning wheels around the metal enclosing our eyes behind beige corridors, high above reality in the realistic sense. I hear pieces of music scattered around me, can’t create but I’ll watch and wait…
