I feel a new kind of weird where you don't feel much of anything--a cold distant could-give-a-fuck--and you walk around all day pretending you care about people and see yourself doing a great job at it. for some reason, the image and concept of cassette tapes used and reused several times to record songs over songs that used to mean something comes to mind. a mix tape that mixed up hard. i could be tired. or under-appericiated. or reacting to several nights of drinking.

at least i'm not depressed or anything. i feel flat-lined. for some reason, the image of an old TV set with wood trim, crappy attena and two big knobs with nothing but the snow pattern comes to mind. easy to ignore. almost useless. i reckon my response to almost anything at the moment would be a callus roll of the eyes, a snotty "whatever", a hard grind of the teeth, a flick of the cigarette and a purple mouthful of saliva spat on the sidewalk.

i don't feel bad or good or anything. i don't feel romantic for what was or hopeful for what could be or will be. i don't feel in love or attracted to anyone. i feel almost free in some weird sort of way. liberated. a glorious loner once more--an angusty teena(n)ger all over again. it's as if i've been thrust back in to the years where love, connection, affection and all that shit dosn't matter. for some reason, the image of rusty wrecks of cars in junk yards comes to mind.

I imagine i'll go to sleep and sleep dreamlessly for ten hours and wake up wondering where i am, who i am, what i'm doing, what day it is and how old i am for a few clueless moments. it'll be in that short window of time that my day will be at it's best until all the shit that's happened closes in on me like i'm a desperate outlaw in a burning building surrounded by the police. i'll defiantly scream at them they'll never take me alive. and you know what? they won't. nothing will. i'll be no one's prisoner. i'll escape somehow. then i'll get out of bed.