the imprint of my body still on the couch, and the floorboards feel the weight. so much time on my ass its hard to imagine there's any shape there. as I write I imagine myself saying this in a whiskey smoked voice. not sure why, I've a got a voice like a door mouse. maybe that's why.
so its an out of body experience. there is a picture of myself on the refrigerator and i'm staring at the cameraman, who seems to be me, for now, it would be you if you looked at it. there I am, just stuck there with my fingers on the keys, how fitting, now this blasted screen is glowing on them again.
pushing words. binary canaries zipping through the mainline. glass of water. old socks and long underwear, i'm just sitting on the couch. its late, by my mom's standards and I have no reason to be awake, not by my mom's standardzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
z
z
z
0<---<
night mom. love you.