Soaking Up the Surface Streets

Delving. Delving. Deviling?

I'm making progress and slipping backwards. Accomplishing much and undoing much more. My home is becoming more mine each day. My self is returning. But I didn't open up in the way I wanted to. I kept reaching for things that had been put away. And facing the great coring out of things that is always on the verge of occurring. I felt my well of notions drying up, and I panicked. Tried to recapture the inspiration that coated everything only moments earlier. What is the device of my distraction? It will be my undoing. I feel as if I am readying for battle. Although I'm sure I have no idea what that's like. And movie-watching doesn't count.

I'm waiting for answers. Looking for them half-heartedly. Toying with dreams of celebration. I'm adrift. Too far from the shore to swim, and yet I can see it. And I wonder if I could get used to opening my eyes in salt water.

As if at the behest of David Byrne, I have stopped making sense.