WHERE I'M AT, A WHOLE SQUARE OF LONG GRASS, GROWN FOR ENOUGH MONTHS WHERE IT SHOOTS OUT LIKE REEDS, LIKE SILK BAMBOO, A BUNCH OF BLUEBELLS AS WELL. IN THE CORNER OF THE GRASS WHERE I SOMETIMES PISS, THE BLADES ARE A DEEP GREEN, STRAIGHT UP CHLOROPHYLLIC, RICH,  SOME OF THE OTHER REEDS ARE FADED YELLOW, STARVED OF SOMETHING. MY PISS CORNER HAS PERFECT NUTRITION. I HEAR THE DRAIN. SOMEONE IS SHOWERING AND I HEAR THE WATER POUR DOWN AND SPLASH AGAINST THE GROUND. I COULD SHUT MY EYES AND TELL MYSELF IT'S A NATURAL STREAM, OR A WATER FOUNTAIN. IF I GET CLOSE ENOUGH TO THE GRASS, IT'S ALL I CAN SEE, AND I CAN TELL MYSELF THAT IT GOES ON FOR MILES, ALL AROUND ME. ABUNDANT LEAVES. LITTERED, ORDERED FLOWERS.

I PICK A DANDELION AND SMELL IT. IT IS AT THE PEAK OF IT'S BLOOM, IT HAS THESE FRONDS COVERED IN POLLEN, AND THEY ARE ARCHING THEIR BACKS, CURLING INTO RIBBONS. IT SMELLS LIKE IT'S SWEATING, LIKE THE TOP OF A DOGS HEAD. SUCH A BEAUTIFUL, GENTLE THING.

DO YOU MISS ME? MISS, MISS, ME LIKE YOU SAY?

IF YOU'RE THINKING OF CHANGING YOUR CAREER, I REALLY THINK YOU SHOULD PICK A CAREER THAT CHANGES PEOPLE LIVES, AND YOU DEFINITELY CHANGE LIVES HERE///

I LOVE CONSCIOUSNESS.

I LIKE TO IMAGINE GOD.

MY CONSCIOUSNESS IS THOROUGHLY TRAPPED IN MY HEAD, I'VE BEEN TRYING FOR YEARS TO GET IT OUT, I BARELY GO ANYWHERE.

I JUST SAW THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SHOOTING STAR. IT SPLIT APART INTO THREE LIKE ORIONS BELT BEFORE FADING AWAY.

IMAGINE LIVING IN THAT DARKNESS WHERE OTHER THINGS DO NOT EXIST. NO LIFE OTHER THAN LIFE ON EARTH. WE ARE DUE FOR A WAKE UP CALL, SUDDENLY, THINGS WILL HAPPEN THAT WILL FORCE US TO CHANGE OUR PERSPECTIVES

THE SAD THING ABOUT SOMEONE DYING ITS NOT SO MUCH THEM DYING  THEY ARE ALLOWED TO LEAVE, YOU CANT HOLD IT AGAINST THEM. THE SAD PART IS KNOWING YOU CAN NEVER HOLD THEM AGAIN, AND RELIVING OLD MEMORIES STOPS FEELING THE SAME. THE CRUELTY OF IT. YOUR MEMORIES REWRITTEN EVERY TIME THEY GET BROUGHT UP. LYING IN BED, HALF WAY TO DREAMING, THINKING OF FAILURES, MISREPRESENTATIONS, AND MISSED OPPORTUNITIES. THINKING, HOW IT WOULD FEEL TO HOLD THAT PERSON AGAIN. TO SHOW THEM THE LOVE YOU FEEL FOR THEM NOW. AND KNOWING THOSE TWO INSTANCES WILL NEVER ALIGN, I CANT EXPLAIN IT. IT MAKES ME VERY SAD. ITS COLD AND SILENT, BREATHLESS. ITS THE NEGATIVE SPACE THAT MAKES UP OUR LIVES. BUT WE HAVE SUNSHINE IN THERE TOO, DON'T FORGET. 

SOMETHING THAT HURTS ME IS THE THOUGHT THAT I CANT EXPRESS LOVE TO THE MATTER WE ARE MADE FROM. CREMATED, RENDERED INTO DUST, I LOVE THAT MATTER IN SOME WAY, AND IT MIGHT NOT KNOW IT. I RENDER THOSE ASHES IN MY MIND, THE SPIRIT OF THEM, IN MY PERPETUAL EMBRACE. AND THOSE ATOMS CANT SHARE IN IT WITH ME. I WISH I HAD FAITH IN GOD OR IN HEAVEN, WHERE WE GO WHEN WE DIE. BUT I ALSO THINK GOD IS WITHIN US ALREADY, AND OUR NEXT LIFE IS WITH US ALREADY. I WONDER IF ONE DAY, AFTER IM RENDERED TO DUST AS WELL, IF I WILL EVER SOMEHOW GLEAN A SENSE OF THIS HUMAN EXPERIENCE ONCE AGAIN. KNOWING THAT AFTER DEATH, THATS NOT ALL THERE IS. THAT YOU CAN COME BACK, SING AND DANCE AGAIN. THAT YOU DONT HAVE TO START FROM THE BEGINNING, CATALYSING REACTIONS, SYNTHESIZING PROTEINS, CHEMICALS CONSUMED BY ORGANISMS. I HOPE I GET TO DO IT AGAIN, AND AGAIN. I REALLY HOPE SO. THERE ARE TEARS IN MY EYES AT THE THOUGHT OF IT. HOW I ONLY HAVE ONE PAIR, ONE DAY, THEY WONT SEE AGAIN. ONE DAY THEY MIGHT LOOK UPON MY OWN CHILD. HEAVEN, SURELY, AS FAR AS WE CAN UNDERSTAND IT. BUT THAT CRIPPLING KNOWING OF WHAT COMES AFTER, THE DECOMPOSITION, THE CRACKS THAT FRAGMENT A MOMENT... EVERY MUSICIAN TAKES THEIR FINGERS OFF THE PULSE OF THEIR INSTRUMENT AS THEIR PERFORMANCE COMES TO A CLOSE. THAT CRIPPLING KNOWING, THAT MILLISECOND OF UNNOTICEABLE CHAOS AND ENTROPY, AS THOSE FINGERS LEAVE THE STRINGS TREMBLING, LIPS LEAVE REEDS, THEIR TINY RESOUNDS AS THEY SETTLE BACK TO SILENT EQUILIBRIUM. THAT UNNOTICEABLE, FINAL EXPRESSION. AND IT'S GONE UNTIL IT'S PICKED BACK UP AGAIN.

I THINK ABOUT ALL THE PLASTIC I CHEWED ON, I USED TO PEEL THE RUBBER OFF THE BACK OF THE SKY REMOTE WITH MY TEETH, CHEW IT LIKE JERKY... NOWADAYS, I'M FITTING CEILING INSULATION, SAWING IT AND TURNING IT INTO POWDER, INHALING IT, GETTING IT IN MY EYES, HAVING IT SATURATE MY CLOTHES, DRIVING HOME WEARING THEM.

IT'S WEIRD TO THINK THAT THE PLASTIC WE CARRY WITHIN US IS THE MOST PERMANENT WE CAN GET. ITS KIND OF A BLESSING, THAT EVEN WHEN EVERYTHING ELSE OF US ROTS AWAY. THE PLASTIC WE CARRIED WITH US OUR ENTIRE LIVES