When I’m in that mood, when the world seems to be in that mood & the sky it reciprocates as a dull metallic blanket – everyone seems to swim into nothingness. Sometimes we swim toward something; an object, an ideal… a lover & sometimes, nothing in particular. This, for me, is now. I come to rest in a bored clarity, & I find deep inside an insatiable melancholy; what I call the limits of the second person. This is the state humans thrive in, live and love in. We do not experience reality in reality anymore, but through an LED projector. Musicians such as Kaori Suzuki exist for the same reasons new religions do. Our sighs morphed into bookish peevishness are her modern un-songs, dithyrambs played in alley-ways that only those who sleep in dire straights are truly intimate with.

Walking about my room, staring at myself in the mirror as my belongings blurred by cigarette smoke pulsate, there is a lightness at the base of my brain stem & everytime I blink I can see the album cover set against the dull gray sky comprising half of the window pane. The world as my thoughts, the surreal sounds emanating from my computer speakers, float & the silence of mili-seconds between battle yelps expand for the hours it takes for the often disappearing sunbeams to slowly dance with the music.

Undaunted by the acceptance of economy, the mirror trembles & melts into vibrations. The glass, now liquefied, puddles around & cools my feet. I laugh, maybe I am having acid flashbacks. The strange liquid dries to my skin & climbs up my legs in scales. Soon covered in a color not too far off from the sky, there is only silence & I smile & look into the mirror. I check my watch. My phone begins to ring.