Seriously, obsessed.

Christ on the cross as it’s illustrated.
I’m body soft and disintegrated.
I’m in this self half-illuminated.
I’m on the call but it’s distant and faded.

I myself I’m the robber denied.
I chased all I lost down to spiraling silence.
I’m on your side it’s just so hard to see you.
I’m on the side of the ghost and the needle.

It’s the choice in my hand,
the suicide or the slaughtered lamb.
When it’s so full of tricks,
I’ll be toasting the gold lights of life.

The trail is cold and hard,
the course of the light of the child.
A slow messenger,
I’m in charge of the coal and the fire.

White noise calling on a sudden deluge.
I’m chased out of breath trying to come back to you.
I’m in arrest of the subtle hues.
Oh, I’m in this self-sick solitude.

The sky’s fallen soft to the silence renewed.
I erased all the tops from the tall city view.
I’m in the flesh of the hungering few.
Oh, I’m on the call trying to get back to you.

It’s the choice in my hand,
the suicide or the slaughtered lamb.
When it’s so full of tricks,
I’ll be toasting the gold lights of life.
The trail is cold and hard,
the course of the light of the child.
A slow messenger,
I’m in charge of the coal and the fire.

These are weekends I love, when I can live in a sustained dream without distraction. Since Saturday, I’ve written 30,000 words on this monstrous novel I accidentally found myself in. Feels so good to have the time to be this productive, when I can spend all day inside the words, translating the visions and the dream to miles of text.

Not sure it could’ve happened without discovering this band, EXITMUSIC. I’ve listened to their album and EP already hundreds of times and I just can’t stop.

Still no end in sight for this novel as I approach the 100,000 mark, which is a mark I’ve never reached before. I thought that would be near the midway or 2/3rds mark earlier this week, but it’s looking like it may still only be the beginning.

Also, note to self and everyone: never write a novel with 101 narrators.

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