Music:crown me king- the grace cathedral fire of '99
i know by now i ought to be cutting my teeth on something a little tougher.
well, it isn't a world of ash yet, but i'm working on it. it is sort of like analyzing the line between superstition & magic, me treading this space betweeen dreams & wakefulness. one or the other occludes the margins so desperately as to obscure any meaningful divide. ghosts of soldiers in danger indistinguishable from the hollow banging on the outside of the sunken ship's hull. clang your morse code message, apparition! i'll always assume you are speaking about me. i hear that head-candlers call that delusion of refrence. they hold these eggs up to the candle, right? to see if they are fertilized, if there is anything in there. so why don't more psychologists talk about philosophical zombies? or are only sociopaths allowed to think that everybody else is a shell? i can't keep track of where one system starts & another begins. i should have a map of the eastern front of wwii, some coloured push-pins to tack up there. i bet that is all i'm missing, all that is keeping me from some unified something or other. man but this halo i'm wearing is just some kind of lacunae, just a hole for my crown to go. even if by the time it is upon my brow once more i'm not much more than a silhoutte. because i'm not much more than one now. & you arn't helping.