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.Distraction. Part ThreePart Three.Distraction. Part Three
A thing, a definable item, or even an indefinable, intangible item cannot be “right” or “wrong” because the terms themselves are too vague and relative.
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. That my thoughts were of “wrong” things. And I thought I saw just as much as anyone else sees. I thought that I might just notice more. Like how there were more reds in the room than there were any other color, but they were faded and ran in with the browns and the dull pinks until they were one tone, which made the greens stand out surreally. And that the only blue items in the room w
by ~call-to-eye
.Distraction. Part TwoPart Two.Distraction. Part Two
There's a huge difference between thoughts and observations, but it was something I'd never paid attention to before. I was more used to observation, but I was having true thoughts now.
We had reached his apartment. I walked out of the car from curiosity and wandered to the edge of the parking lot to the door of the seemingly massive building. He was still at the car, locking and checking the doors. Inside the building was a long hallway, like in a hotel. He finally came toward the door, gently held me to the side as he opened the door. I followed his past the dirtied, printed carpets to a long stair
by ~call-to-eye
.Distraction. Part OneAll it comes down to, all it ever comes down to, is the role of distraction..Distraction. Part One
I was in a train car, a million miles away from conscience, wondering how the lights had never flickered so softly. Every now and then, the image of a passed tree caught and scratched my eyeball, far away from my pupil. I had no books; I had no music. My mind was sold to a solid idea, but my surroundings were fluid--the train, the people, the seats, and the trees. I could have shot a bullet through it all; it would have rippled. Incessantly.
It was all a melodic nightmare, but my destination kept me sane. The train, stopping in jerks,
by ~call-to-eye
untitledi'd like to touch with more than a blink counting keys with eyelashes as i'm thinking of the rubber ball i bounced today ignoring the gray before since the day my fingers latched on to something painful slipping the time away for a fourth eye to rust and gray again--untitled
sometimes i wish i was 13 again.
by ~call-to-eye
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