Seven Sentences

Let's forget about that last post. It has nothing to do with you.

Everything to do with me. This is my blog, right? I'm not sure what I'm saying here. I'm sort of... delayed. Remember that DJ Unkle video with Thom Yorke where the guy is getting hit by all the cars? You can watch it now. I either feel like that guy or that song.

I'm sitting here wondering where the rest of me is. My hands are moving across the keys but the words are coming from far off, by ansible. I am a ghost and I am haunting my own head by remote control. It will take some time to get back. But you can't get back time. You can't get back things once you let them out. They're gone, in the ether, to be absorbed or rejected by everything around you. I'm trying to call home by ansible. Is this thing on? Traveling across time and space. Wasted time for empty space.

I know I'm not making sense. I'm not trying to. It's a tactic we all use to say how we feel without anyone knowing what we're talking about. We're protecting ourselves from the publicity that is a blog. I'm being ambiguous because I want there to be space between myself and my feelings and you knowing what my feelings are, so that I am existing in an impenetrable shell.

The walls of Jericho fell in seven days. Mine fell in seven sentences.
Someone find the nearest fallout shelter.