Ancient Lanka was a city, I think it only makes sense to live that way. You can slip down from the hills on black carpet, two hours to the sea. I’m chilly in the morning, swimming again by afternoon. Can lose oneself in the rolling hills, the rolling sea. Blessing and curse, for better or worse, even here the Blueberry still connect. There’s a new magazine on the table. My ex-girlfriend is on the cover. FML.
One tries to get away. From something, to something, but the postcard always has a return address. Different coast, same sea. Different people, same me. Different drinks, same pee. But I digress.
I was a tourist in India and I never really came back. I don’t see the point. I spend about as much as I used to on rent. I see random shit, if I do actual work I can expense bits to the paper. I meet new people, have different conversation. It’s nice to see things through their eyes. I really don’t look sometimes.
I like the sunset in your eyes,
When you thank God I realize
There’s something more between these lines
I never stopped to see
The old pain hangs like a hangover. The Archetypes. Small love affairs with myself. Complicated humans you never understood become smoothed out into statues of perfection. Pygmalion and Galatea. You fall in love with cold marble that never returns your calls.
I have to go now. Something quite live and immediate is biting me.