This machine will, will not communicateThese thoughts and the strain I am underBe a world child, form a circleBefore we all go underAnd fade out againAnd fade out again
7:52/4:51
Somehow it feels less desperate, less sinister. I think I would be fine if not for the forced ending of my day with the sun. My eyes at night are about as useful as my ears in the day and therefore I rely on touch. My big headphones cram Radiohead into my brain while I study my waves as if the test is first thing. Teal. White. Medium-blue. Tiffany blue. Blackened teal once more. I know them better than I know the constellation freckles on the back of Lochlan's right hand.
I know them almost as well as all of the lyrics that drown intrusive thoughts. Spirit Street turns into Daydreaming. Perfect. It's a vibe. It's a whole mood. It's going to bring Ben at a decent clip across the yard because I'm past his boundary and not even close to mine. Not sure I have any anyway. Did I ever?
No, I didn't and that's how I came to be this way. Locked in my brain the way I'm locked in the house after dark because I can't navigate the blinding starburst of life without help.
Someday they'll study it, this brain. They'll yank it out easily and begin to slice thin sheets and words and letters and melodies will begin to pile up all around it, falling to the floor, sprinkling down in slow motion like snow in a dream sequence and they will nod and point out how much was missing and everyone will be aghast save for me and those who know me best.
Nothing was missing. I had everything I needed.