Bed thoughts.

I walk through the rocks, they wind together like puzzle pieces, placed there by a mechanic's hands. The stone masons, long gone, left their stairwells along the slow curves and I follow them. The park, pronounced parrlllllllk in czech, reminds me of a zoo. An exhibit titled, "Humans". The city our ant hill. an acorne falls on my shoulder, thumps my hand and binks off my guitar case. I look up to see blue sky held up above me by tree limbs, quickly becoming leafless. I crunch through the pathways in search of a spot to call my own, but peace is elusive. Five minutes alone is a godsend - a godsend for another day. A young hispanic man walks out through the trees and sits down 30 feet away, and begins a quiet conversation on his cellular phone. Yes, another day. I lie down, the guitar case my arm rest - my book bag my pillow. I put on my headphones and start listening to czech. The words begin to melt together, like some kind of lava flow, churning and burning but saying nothing. I become impatient. The cd is slow, and I tick by the millisecond. I stand up and throw my guitar over my shoulder. Time to move on.

I make my way amongst the rambles, looking for purpose. Things aren't that well back at the apartment and I don't care to spend time there. I know that the park is my haven, and it will soon become useless for guitar playing. I must convert, or adapt, or transcend. Maybe all? I once felt that the city could be my home, but I'm starting to change colors. My chameleon skin doesn't lie. I need the words, the lyrics to put on paper. I'm trying to conceive some true thought, something that makes sense among all of this nonsense. All of this noise starts to fill my pores and perspective wanes.

More later.