wearing this extra light head since i woke up is contrary to what you think.
this is totally devoid of fun.
there is bliss, yes. but the bliss comes from the blurred images of surrealism and impressionism mixed in an unfamiliar space.
with a head this light, the world is definitely monet-made.
it’s like leaving the body to escape the world and the universe to dream of the weekend- one of those weekends spent on random jungles without worrying too much of the other forces present in the universe.
there are words. there are words hanging, floating and swirling in the space of my head.
words soaked in solvent. words cultured in cocaine.
there are loose paragraphs about betrayal and trust.
there are sentence fragments about repression.
there are phrases of looming depression.
there are words of happiness and warning signs clinging to the head like the veined marbled walls of the postmodern music hall.
there are words performing circus acts. words pirouetting under the influence of alcohol. words drunk with ecstasy. words drowned with chocolate.
all these words fueled by the helium of their own motivations delivers me in this unnaturally high state that ascends my spirit into a higher dimension, to some other jungle, to some universe relatively far from where my physical body is.