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Aug. 6th, 2005 11:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jazzfish(It's not Blake but it's more urgent, because I can feel it getting away from me with every minute I spend in this room.)
Out the door and into Straylight, and away. Click a button and down go the windows, click a button and up goes the sunroof. Turn up "Kind of Blue" a little louder, get Miles and Coltrane and the rest flowing right through my skin to whisper across my bones.
Glide down the ramp onto four-sixty, see the fog filling gaps between the streetlights. Gas to sixty and cruise. The wind runs his fingers through my hair, the hazy brown-yellow mist more inviting than anything I've seen in weeks. I feel . . . not more alive, but less. The worries remain but they're not so important, just small voices at the back of my brain.
Times like this, I want to just go. Pick a patch of fog and head off into it, never to be heard from again. There's no Blake in the mist, no Incompletes or apartments or jobs. The mist doesn't care, and after awhile neither will I.
Step out the front door like a ghost
into the fog where no one notices
the contrast of white on white
--Adam Duritz
Out the door and into Straylight, and away. Click a button and down go the windows, click a button and up goes the sunroof. Turn up "Kind of Blue" a little louder, get Miles and Coltrane and the rest flowing right through my skin to whisper across my bones.
Glide down the ramp onto four-sixty, see the fog filling gaps between the streetlights. Gas to sixty and cruise. The wind runs his fingers through my hair, the hazy brown-yellow mist more inviting than anything I've seen in weeks. I feel . . . not more alive, but less. The worries remain but they're not so important, just small voices at the back of my brain.
Times like this, I want to just go. Pick a patch of fog and head off into it, never to be heard from again. There's no Blake in the mist, no Incompletes or apartments or jobs. The mist doesn't care, and after awhile neither will I.
Step out the front door like a ghost
into the fog where no one notices
the contrast of white on white
--Adam Duritz