I sit in the driver's seat,
trying to decide whether I want
to view this light and dark world
through the dot matrix of a pointilist painting
or through the smeary incandescence
of an impressionist's eyes,
and flip my windshield wipers accordingly.
It's snowing. And I'm still singing "Open Road Song" in my head. Not that the road is particularly open, not right now. But it's... I don't know. Nice and comforting.
Wrote some more last night. A couple paragraphs of "Genesis 1", which is almost finished and then a small section of this fic I'm doing that is structured around this. Because, you know... I can't think for myself. Haha. Funny.
"My anti-drug is suicide!" Love you lulu.
Oh, fuck you librarian person. I don't do anything destructive, so leave me alone.