mrdissonance

sitting here, the glow from the waffle-maker toasting my facethe fingers work the keys, a concerto in alphanumeric souponly the digital tap-dance and the aural pleasure from an mp3 player can be heardthe tv stares blankly into the room, reflecting its contents in a sea of mudthe dishwasher has a mouthful of dishes it's showing off, trying to gross me out even though the dishes are cleani've cratered into black leather, arranged myself like my first initial, and i'm neglecting the things that need to be done. i'm just not in the mood to see them through to completion. i'd rather wander the earth, enjoying the warmth before it recedes back from texas's hairline. mother nature teases mebeats being ignored though. i keep looking at my phone, but it thinks it's Marcel Marceau. so i remain fixed, the tap-dance rattling out my thoughtsdressing them in finery for display instead of letting them streak through the internet quad. running out of steam, i collect the fallen bodies, drive them all back home, and leave an exhaust cloud of letters to cover my escape

feeling: melancholy
listening to: Plexi--Cheer Up