I Feel Unreal

I am mentally unable to put this feeling to coherent words. It's a shame that I must think so verbally, instead of trusting the sensation.

My head lapsed backwards in some unpleasant constriction of muscles. The muscles are sore. Maybe from sleeping on the floor. Maybe from headbanging in the rain. Is it a normal life I lead that these things happen? My neck is definitely not sore from work or stress or the mundane.

All of the songs I haven't listened to in so long sound like human beings with their little vocal flaws, and the instruments in the background are louder than I've ever heard them. I'd never heard the jingle bells in this song; they are so delicate. The handclaps in another sound mechanic.

Cracking knuckles is the sound of our tragic origin.

People seem to swirl about me more ideas and icons than human beings. It's so hard to stumble into a conversation. First, we must establish a conversation, then I can invite them over to talk and to make them into real human beings.

First Day of My Life is terribly sad. It is a sweet notion that another human being can inspire life and love in another, but I want to be alive even if I am alone. I will be in love with myself, and critical and frustrated and angry sometimes, but that's how I'll grow.

I want to be an idea to most people, and me to myself and a select few.
I want to be a muse, and I want to make people fall in love with the idea of me.
I think I've inspired art here.
It is presumptuous, but I suspect I am why a boy tried flyposting, and I suspect it is because I stenciled, and because Jeff inspired me to stencil.
Making art is thrilling and terrifying. The feeling is more art than the product.

I want sidewalk chalk. I will transform it wall chalk somewhere it doesn't rain.

"the miracle of faith consists in the fact that Abraham and Sarah were young enough to wish"