Musings

Oh and could I tell you a story. A lie you could all get behind. Fit for the history books, so beautiful in its elegant parsimony. And you may even remember me, look on me with something like respect or care. But I sigh. Instead, I try to create one linear thought. A minor lie in itself.

We confine ourselves. To lines and 90 degree angles when all we are is so much more infinite. Circular, indefinably tragically and beautifully incomprehensible. And you see it in the half-mad, musically-induced, life deprived ramblings of a twenty-year-old girl stuck in the living room of a house where no one really lives.

So I go to the club. And I have fun. And how I dance.