Cycle

What do I do now? And I don't remember anymore. Anything else in the diary...the longest party I have ever been to, life.

All consuming and an identity of my own. Unfashionable triumph. And I worship its code, sounds and symbols. Its unrepentent irony and unforgiving unstoppable system.

Always the underdog, the small thing. You have millions of fans, and yes, you go that way. It's not nostalgia, and I haven't sold out please.

It becomes part of you and then you die. It is spectacular and embarrassing and faulty. Fireflies fall and I am awake but I am asleep. Paralysing. No magic numbers. No magic fingers. No system at all.

A haunting evidence, a residue of something I left behind. I can't and I won't. And no, I won't visit, and no, I am not the kind of person to leave flowers, or even send a birthday card. I have not sent a letter in years.

It is utter carnage at times, my head and this life.

It's a myth.

When they said my name there was no shock or suprise, no inflection. It's just I would like to have been remembered.

Life, I have an immense love for you, and I do try to feel you, but have to put some distance between us sometimes....and then I miss you, so open up the window and flow in before I change my mind.