Tonight I feel like singing in languages I forgot long ago...

I feel charged with that buffer of heat... an impenetrable armor, if you will, against the cold.

I hate mirrors, the ones I use are broken and might well cut me if I touch them. I prefer honesty in a mirror.

I have art strewn over the floor of my room, and a vast brown blankness stretched on my wall. I had hoped to spend my winter break filling it with color, space, letter and line, but if I go home for the holiday and go to Georgia, there'll hardly be time.

Break out the angst, the caffeine is starting to wear thin. Let's roll into the covers, layer ourselves in the pages of a book, inhale the scent of our skin as it brushes the dry forgotten ink. Watch, the frail blonde hairs on your nape shiver as I breathe my story into them.

It's been a late night this entire week and my grasp on the English language is tenuous at best. My fingertips are in danger of forgetting that their purpose lies not in the constant dance of the keyboard, but in the intense, ineffable exploration of the language of feeling. Feel, you must remind them to feel beyond the fading plastic squares.

It's 36 Degrees, Nancy Boy, Where Is My Mind, All the Pretty Things Are Going To Hell, Institutionalized, . It's every bad punk song, every wannabe emo angst song, everything that you ever played at full volume with the windows down in a winter night and screamed the words you'd forgotten you knew. Or just screamed to. It's about the fall of reason, the ascent of a nascent faculty beyond thought, beyond poetry. Bring back the music more palpable than concrete buildings, let it penetrate your defenses like auditory artillery. What are they singing? Who the fuck cares. Break the shell of your language, fight your way into something greater, uglier, more alive. I love the way you smell when you've forgotten how much you love dreaming. I'll shower you with, I'll drown you in, I'll rescue you from your nostalgia. I'll freewrite my way to Hell, dancing the whole way there, content to feel your hand curled inside my glove. C'mon, darlin, let's swim.