
My mother has recently pulled a transformers into robo-cop maneuver and is now The New London county heating and cooling nazi. I'm in the igloo that is cleverly dubbed "house." I pick up a fleece blanket and am nearly floored by visible static electricity sparks. What a night, we're all over the place. We can't escape the truth that is our identity. Sat Nam. I get it. Fucking finally. Night after insomniac night I wrote furiously in my composition notebook trying to figure you out. An attempt to conceptualize the intangible force that dragged me me straight to your emanation knowing it was an abomination. An incalculable tuition for a sophomoric assignment of the soul. Does this mean we graduate? To what? Junior Varsity? This is some high school musical shit. Let's write catchy songs that make falling in love sparkly and adolescent...sing them in the shower and maybe the vibration of our voices will fill our black holes and cast light on our shadow selves.



