I miss you guys. It's so sad that the only real place we have left to return to is the past. And I don't know how to get there. It isn't like I don't remember. It's just that I don't realize when I have gone away somewhere. I'm running on automatic. Would you like some tea? I just want a cookie. One with fine print all over it, so that I can taste something meaningful. Like Strawberries.
I keep waiting to wake up and start again from some checkpoint. The only problem is that there are too many of them. And I have one foot on the accelerator and no hands on the wheel. There's a fine line between drifting and crashing. I have a thing for fine lines. Tight rope, she said. No, ma'am, it's only copper wire.
I'm so weary. I can't remember feeling this way. Whatever this way is. Wherever it goes. I don't know. Does it matter? You can't get lost if you don't have anywhere to go.
If no one has the answers, then how do I find them? Where do I look? The skies only reflect my own confusion back at me, after magnifying it by a thousand times. And I can't get inside my head 'cause there isn't any place left in here. there. Here?
Maybe, I've just run out of memory. Or charge. Maybe my validity has expired. I want to vanish in green smoke. Not the popping kind, but the one that looks like fire.
It's getting late again. It's always like that, even with so much of nothing to do. I'm tired of all this moving. I'm tired of standing around. I want to see how deep the rabbit hole goes. It's like being six again. The fact that you may never be able to get back from under the rainbow was never a problem that had to be dealt with. One step at a time. We were all so much smarter as children. I do believe in fairies, but my window is barred. Or I'd have flown away by now.
"Who do you suppose decided birds are free? They can fly wherever they choose, but if there's no branch for them to return to, they might regret having wings. Don't you think? Perhaps true freedom is having a home to return to."
"No one is free. Even the birds are chained to the sky."
It's not like they promised us an ideal world. It isn't like we're ideal ourselves. But in the middle of this relativity and reasons that change like seasons, perhaps it is the smoke that one must cling to. You can't, for too long. And it makes me think of falling snow.
I'd take you home if I knew the way. But, apparently, we can't breathe in space. I wish they hadn't told me. We could have made it there inside one of those raindrops that cause rainbows. A rainbow-colored, near transparent little bubble.
I'm going to hide now.
Count to a hundred.
I've already hidden all the threes.
I have to go.
I'm getting carried away.
Now playing: neil young - the needle and the damage done