(via onlylogan)
Seattle.
Written in haste on a musical vacation to a cloudy city:
It has come to my immediate attention the slow decomposition of my body and soul. It appears that my lovers prolonged absence has induced a substantial degradation in my outlook on life, and all its wondrous adventures included. Melancholy residues of home drip from my clothes as I walk about my business, and I am enveloped in a thin yet potent cloud of inadequate health and state of mind. It is only around my dear friends, unaware of my condition, that I am temporarily relieved from this chakra, this drought of all profound thought, which, on occasions has been proven to be useful, yet not always healthy. My want of her turned swiftly from a challenge to a tortuous endeavor, through which I had not a soul to take comfort in. For two weeks I wandered a foreign city’s streets with unfathomable feelings of invisibility. Long, dark days shrouded in retired Seattle clouds allotted more than a sufficient amount of time for my mind to exited itself about the turquoise demon of loneliness. Foods and drinks lost there potency and famine seemed to pollute my body and mind. My vision, as poor as it was, was indeed reduced further, at times to a vague, modulated interpretation of that which lay in front of mine eyes, as if a sad, drunken surrealist was painting the world for me as he saw fit. The alien towers land drove me mad with sweet nostalgia, as if I were Jacob himself climbing towards something that seemed so inconceivably impossible. Dante himself could not have conceived a worse feeling than the miss of my love. Life itself seemed to be sustained only by my studies of the art of music. I distracted myself constantly with the beautiful sonic organisms that formed only when a key was struck on the piano. These sounds were my friends. Always agreeing and reiterating what I poured into their vessels with such elegance, such suave and calm sounds filled the air pockets in my head and shook my bones to the exact resonating frequency of my emotions. Music was the language of humankind. And jazz was the upset daughter of the human condition, swaying this way and that in ways that would only compliment and augment what once seemed like, useless, upset thoughts of a hopeless romantic.
she feels like a stranger has come in the night and stolen her life and left her with this
