how are these people alive, i look through their eyes and see dust and bills and an empty wind, I’m surprised that when they eat their special breakfast that it doesn’t drop through their rib cage, down through the hip bone and onto to the floor, splat

in some ways i really hate going home, everytime i meet someone from a long timeago the conversations are all THE SAME its 'hey how are you i am good i am healthy the dog is well' and it is just setting it up for three months down the line when that conversation happens again a million million times over it is nothing more than the hum of an a ver y loud radiator or engine or its like swimming throuhg mollases trying to talk to other s