wounds are still open that i thought were licked clean months ago:
i'm unsettled, in an incessant state of
perpetual motion. i'm i'm not doing something i'm worried about what i should be doing.
there's a blank page in my head, a blank
tertiary application form. just blank
static with blinklets of light where the lamp shining into my eyes has left an impression. when the light fades there's only static left, like on an untuned
television channel or the place between
radio stations. endless movement in a
stagnant place.
i've started writing
anonymous little messages and sayings and putting them in a letterbox a couple of blocks away. it makes me feel good, i'm not entirely sure why yet.
i saw
the shawshank redemption again, and it also made me feel good. the part about
institutionalization, and how
hope can make us free of it. "there are places in the world that aren't made out of stone - there's something inside that's yours, that they can't touch."