Wax off, demons, wax off

Listening to Blur, Modern Life is Rubbish. Reminded of Chris Harrison.

I can change myself all I want. i'll never forget who i was. the various whos i've been. that's ok, but they don't stop hurting, sickening. and maybe i'll never stop being them, those whos. that i don't want to believe.

I want a lot don't I?

Don't wanna be no
roadside blackberry
very
dusty from the
gas guzzling road stuck travellers
gonna tuck me away
till i'm fat ripe n juicy
smear myself all over
some river rinsed mouths.
sure you can cook me put me in a
jar but you'll never find me in a
traffic jam.

Yesterday there was a bright pink round reflection on the inside of the car door. Much empirical investigation was had by all. Finally, it's reflected off a pink sequins stow-away came-from-where hiding in the door pocket. Magic. All the more so because we figured out why.

Nothing else matters.
One day when I look in the Mirror of Erised I'll see me as I am.

Later: Stuff and nonsense. I'm reading Pam's emails, piled up over months. Now that's worth reading. And therefore, writing. Not this stuff and fluff up here. Well, I'll keep it, because it's here, no point taking it away, and perhaps it'll remind me to find a way to jerk myself out of these whiny inconsequential waves that lap up on my beach resort.