spilling

i get afraid to post. i get afraid that i wont be able to describe how i feel. or that when i do, it will be mundane and meaningless. so i wait. i wait until i cant wait any longer. i wait until im about to burst. then i spill. i spill it all out. well, most of it at least. i keep some for myself. for later. when im alone.*

but im spilling now.

im bursting.

i gotta change my template just like i gotta change many things. my diet. my sleeping pattern. my outlook on life. but i gotta get around to my template sooner than later. i dont like the way my words look anymore. they just sit there. perched in blackness. like pigeons on the wire of a powerline in the middle of nowhere. or dim lights in a void, ones you would dismiss as hallucination, imaginary spots in a darkness. they almost mock me with their bordome. asking- no, daring- me not to lose interest.

but thats neither here nor there.

im listening to the best techno i've heard in a lifetime. its a track by cobblestone jazz and its called "india in me," and it hurts.

* with lubricant.