in space i am.

you do this to me. well, at least you play a more than minor part. i am talking to myself and pretending it's you. talking to paper, pillows, anything that will listen. i haven't come up with a better explanation than the fact that it must be the early registering of deprivation dementia; crossing wires, burning circuits out and winding faculties down.

as stated, this time of year reminds me of too too much.

overloads cross up and burn out.

the last dream i can remember having we were trapped inside of a nuclear reactor, with the cooling water and radioactive isotope rods semi-submerged. things were grey like the afterlife, but with red somewhere softly unfocused. things began to melt down and matter was becoming energy, isotopes breaking up, breaking down, i could feel the gravity warping and i was dizzy. i have never dreamed that i was dizzy. it is here that i usually wake up, without the chance to speak before the tumult. and since i was inside this reactor, i knew before the meltdown that i was as good as dead already from radiation poisoning, and yet i still could not say what i have wanted to say for so long. and this time i was given that chance. fleeting as it was.

chernobyl couldn't even make me say what i came to say, and that hurt more than the fact that i was going to die.

strange how i lost consciousness and woke up at the same time.