Thousands of Dead Gods.

Confusion confusion. I don't know what's going on, or where we may or may not be going. And I'm too afraid of pushing you away to ask. I suppose we'll see this weekend.

Maybe I'm reading too much into things, as usual, but maybe not. Little things always seem like they SHOULD be more significant, simply because they are so small.

Ring ring ring. It's all so frivolous.

I wish I knew where to go with any of this. I can't ever take my own advice, it seems.

Though more than anything I wish it'd go my way, just this once. I'll walk over those clandestine sidewalks, and I won't even need the extension cord.

Tornado for a soul sometimes seems like an appropriate description of myself. But there I go romanticizing everything once again. I really should break that habit.

Clandestine sidewalks indeed. Well, clandestine, at least, maybe not so much the sidewalks. It always has been a very secret thing, and still is.

But as if any of it really matters to begin with. Ah, pessimism.


Static crunches and violent, indiscernible words. It makes me sleep so peacefully. Though sometimes I do wish for nightmares, since they're the only dreams I can ever remember.


I wish my thoughts were as peaceful as this music makes me feel all the time.