Tuesday, March 11

banter banter, random finger tapping, internet equivalent of tongue wagging

so i guess this is a raw memory rubbed the wrong way, salt in wounds, leaving too soon for resolution. for revolution. for evolution. for greater understanding of what i could never understand, for a lesser under-dog i could never underhand, for what's worth more than the sticker price, more than the bricked-wall life. roll down the window and feel the wind play against your features, dancing on your face and tugging your hair, the setting sun with ray guns set to glare and aviators the only means of deflection. nothing like the reflection, of why you're out driving alone, on something of an open road, with splodgy clouds and dotted lines, black tarmac and green signs, pointing to a destination. but is it your destination? what means of motivation, can continue this facilitation? the world to roam and still make it safely home. if home is anywhere, if home is here, if home is still there when you get home.

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