意識流。
When summer comes......
I'll wait til I get there.
He wasn't there.
I thought he'd always be but he wasn't.
How can you tell from what is real and what is not?
Being there or not being there,
there's no New York to my existence because
culturally speaking it's not there if I'm not there.
Having or losing control,
what difference does it make?
They all feel so unreal.
I'm the listener of my thoughts,
I don't lead the way.
Any progressive thinking is just an accidental consiquence of my spontaneous mind streaming.
The meaning of a word, is different to every person.
(please read in a Bob Dylan kind of tone)
The word fear, or the practical mean to defeat it,
to me they're all void yet as haunting as hxxl.
The spritual, and the substance,
how can you tell them apart?
I can't.
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