Sunday, 26 August 2012

Purpose

I don't know what to write.

I'm looking at my hands and thinking, "Are they mine?"  Bite a finger and I feel the pain, but is it mine?

My mind is blank, and I'm not sure I'm here. 

I de-stringed a guitar tonight, stripped it of its reason and its voice.  I feel a little like that today.  Stringless, without reason or voice.  Without purpose.

But all this is bullshit anyway.  I'm using senseless words, speaking them into an information hurricane that snatches them away and scatters them across the space between stars.  And the wind laughs at me.