blustocking | (no subject)

It wasn't for lack of poison that I made it home.

3.000 pounds of steel, a layered pink and purple haze of sky, marine layer fog so close you can touch it, but you'll never reach it, music, a new CD, thoughts scattered over a busy highway...no time to pause, collect, regroup...gone.

It smells not of rain, but of heavy wet air...not oppressive, elevating. I love the drive home, late. I love the drive. Home. Late. Faster than I should, always faster than I should. Gaining time, losing space, only to find that time is lost again.

And then a song, never heard before tonight, made me cry for no reason save everything.
Had it been raining, what a beautiful tragedy I would have made.

What We Want To Believe In

She was my sunlight
She made my skin glow
She had these bow legs
I didn't want her to go
Blue skies were turning red
Learned my grade the hard way
She loved me or so she said
So I say

We all believe
What we want to believe in
We like to dream
What we want to believe in
This is the real thing

I stretched her dress tight
I cut her hair low
I made her speak right
I didn't want her to go
Grey skies beneath my feet
I slipped on truth the hard way
She preferred herself to me
So I say

We all believe
What we want to believe in
We like to dream
And we want to believe it
So we all believe
What we want to believe in
This is the real thing so dance
Every woman & man
In cloud cuckoo land

--Catherine Wheel