witty-remark's Diaryland Diary

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If I stand still for even a moment, unfettered and removed from all the motions and tangles, the sharp spindles of meaningless activities I spin to pierce my side and distract me, a wave washes over me. Itís heavy and weightless at the same time. Just a crushing sense of nothingnessólike suffocating from too much air. I sit in bed and play my records, and for the past six months I've come to know this one side. A side. Bedside, beside, B-side sits face down. I let my songs play and then listen to the sound of nothing at the end, because itís familiar and soothing. And Iím beginning to feel like that record. The needleís scratching my surface, and Iím still spinning without making a sound.

3:03 p.m. - Saturday, Aug. 16, 2014

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