yourbelovedmonster

Time is behaving                    like history.       Stale seconds linger and invented moments die. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that this too is manufactured…                      especially when                      the only things                      that really function                      are clocks, anymore.

a train ride from Sapporo to London, reading tabula rasa persona. skimming the new words in my consciousness whispering them softly in 4/4 time. thinking we were blank pages of paper... white tablets scarred with our scrawled initials... and rather than some personality, we were something much more superficial. closing my eyes I begin to pretend... that I imagined everyone I've met. they fade like old receipts and grey bank notes, like light comes to retrieve old silhouettes. sentient... that word stings much too deeply... unstructured... misplaced... aware... sentient... and now 'tabula rasa persona'? maybe that was