I found Henry Chinaski! Subconcious, I don't understand, I don't remember quite what it's supposed to be, or what I am supposed to do. Forget? Or give up, or run away. To Australia! To catch accents! No! Because it would be too difficult by myself. I think, whatever you say, I must be looking for my other half. Someone that you can't take your eyes off, right? Or you're the only two people who know exactly how to talk to each other, or not. Run away, run away, ru nawaya way run. Where to? 'Cause I can change my name and meet other people (or not) and still look for the same thing. I am hoping too hard. But I think I have lost that, and we died together. I am sad, because they all laughed at the limbs of my wardrobe, and the cars that slither across the field like ribbon snakes, so slippery sliding fast, and flash! Or people crawling, tumbling and rolling across speedbumps, and I look for you everywhere, but nothing. Except right behind my eyes, and all the space and empty, vacuumed space you must fill, du muss! It is so much pressure for you, it is too much, and with all of this accumulated, perhaps you should escape and it is too much for me to ask you not to. I ask too much, but I can't seem to function without it. I'm sorry, and I do wish it were different. But we are both different people. Not the same one, like it should be.

YOU WILL FORGET ME.

Feeling:
Listening to:
Pretending: