Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life.

But why would I want to do a thing like that?

-Trainspotting

its like watching a foreign film, or a silent movie. i can understand each word on its own, but strung together like... alleles, on a chromosome... they just seem to go on and on making no sense. im not really paying attention. something pulls me towards fear as if it were a dark, bottomless well and the minute im standing over it im sick with vertigo... suddenly weightless, suddenly... panicked. panic. panic. fear. fear.

so that they will recognize my eyes
in a crowd, so that
they dont run away, turn around
so that you remind me of who i am
two strangers in a strange land
and tounges stutter words unfamiliar
cities built stone by painful stone
and hearts beat stronger
standing still, moving closer to home
here, within the cusp of light between your hand and mine,
between the naked feet that run, laughing, side by side
under the melting heat of skin, in the sun dappled shadow of a grin
a thousand pinpoints of light dance on the water as
fluid fishnets of the sun swim...

you are

everything i love.
tied up, enshrined as gently as a
monarch's wing
this secret, faded old wooden box
of wishes,
and whipers,
and wonderings...