Kurrs' Digital Tapestry of Words

Tremors from recent events rumble across the surface of my psyche. Like the points of light that dance about one's head at onset of a concussion or when a girl is revealed at the winning strike of a mallet. Extraordinary good news has occurred and I cannot be brought to care about how it happened. A third to the list of things that I do not want to know about how they are made, the other two being sausages and econometric models.

I've never seen you be so fragile before.

Too much wrapped up in a series of two numbers: respect, expect, faith, worth. Too much. The self-made stars cause me to sway and stagger, like a drunkard clinging to a man named inevitable. And that's only the half of it.

The other is standing before a painting that is more real to me than life itself. When I see it, everything else seems so pale in comparison. Words fail me as I try to explain, again and again.

Is it wrong to reach out, and grasp beauty, with honesty and actually mutter the words "you are not the one I need"? It feels like tragedy, but that would hardly be a change of pace. "It is enough," I am told of a similar situation, but I don't see happiness. Deaden yourself to the world, and take enough, and all I see is a lingering sorrow that clings to her every actions.

And do not, in mistake, think you know who I'm talking about. So many faces taint this electronic page that they blur and cascade together, like a collage of magazine cut-outs or a piece of digital art in progress.

Currently Listening: Orbital - The Box (full album)