She sees these visions. She feels emotion. She says that I cannot go, she sees my plane in the ocean.

January 26, 2015 § Leave a comment


With no singing, with no swinging to. There’s no dancing, there’s no missing you.” – Bright Eyes – I woke up with this song in my head this morning. 

I’d learnt a long time ago that when the moment gets hold of you there’s no time to pray that it never lets you go. Don’t waste the moment praying that it doesn’t pass, you’ll regret that. You don’t spend your fleeting moments of happiness pray that that creeping madness of sadness doesn’t take hold again. You could, but you should. Got to read more. Got to think more. Less tv. Less noise and sound and colours and shite in. Shite in shite out. More Hunter Thompson, less Jeremy Kyle. Less whiskey. And in that moment of laying down exactly what I need I realise that she’s just there to fill a void. It’s not a deep, sophisticated, emotion void. No. She’s a bad fix it job. She’s lost time and madness and loss prevention. She’s heartless and guttless and that suits me all the way down to my soul. That’s what I need. Drunk enough to dance. I’d forgot how to live. Just doing isn’t living. I need the pulse of other people. That’s the deal with me. For the new ones to meet the old ones. Hell have no fury like me lost and alone again. Actually, it’s not fury. It’s a response. It’s a defence mechanism. It’s me holding my knees and praying to god for safety. I write the words and hope to push them into sense in the morning. They’re not for you. They are for you. Or for me. Either way, I’m not going to try to make sense of this in the morning. I’m just going to push on through. Not read it. Smile. Hope to bleed less. Do less. Here comes the slack. Cut me clean. I need somewhere to point this madness.

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You are currently reading She sees these visions. She feels emotion. She says that I cannot go, she sees my plane in the ocean. at No Longer an Astronaut..

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