mephausto

pardon me for a moment, if you will, yes, if only you would pardon me for one moment I could get away with so much.

something missing from chocolate dreams and vanilla days, a little fluffly piece of topping, that extra glaze that makes the dough give me heartburn of the sinful kind.

see, I don't make sense currently, I do not seem to make sense, even to me, caught up in some sort of windfall of the mental state, some sort of lazy halfway point between thinking and doing, actively absurd and seeking some form of lucidity in terms of where I am at this point as there is nowhereland out before me, stretching not nearly far enough, just one bubble of haze, somehow stuck on trying to be where I'm not but having nowhere to go right now.

it's really just questions, really, yes, questions that keep greeting me time and again, always when I wake up questions, demands, declarative, interrogative, persuasive statements doing nothing to help this lost isolation, this trite floating along the stream in a very uninteresting environment, perhaps Nebraska, perhaps not

perhaps I'm just in orbit around some sort of impending entry to a new atmosphere, some sort of slow, burning change to clear away the dross, the old and stale, taking the cycle one burning circle at a time until the shock of splashdown allows me to take a look around and realize I'm swimming in a new sea under a new sun, with new clouds and new storms to weather, a fascinating cartographic experience for a traveler

that's not here yet and I'm here, well, nowhere, yes, nowhere now.

this is my postcard from nowhereland
with your name on it
wish you were here
but no one is
so I'm writing my postcard from nowhereland
your address printed neatly, stamp licked and set
wishing you were here with me
but nobody is, it's just
me and nothing
and we're having a grand old time
we're painting the town red
down here in nowhereland
it's my kind of town
nowhereland
yeah
down here in nowhereland