do not tell me of your neatly plotted life. your day-to-day existence. a line on a graph: point A to B. exciting? your arrogance confined-confounded; your life consecrated to a clock--the less forgiving god. food's always on the table and price-tagged wares consumed. and somewhere down the line you've forgotten that life is meant for living. where is the life in living when your nights drone on and on? to start all over again next morning like wind-up automatons. and me? i'm not wrapped up and tidy. my life's a present that always is. no bills to pay and no collectors come collecting. i sleep and dance and love and play and mess and laugh and shit. wherever. whenever. and long ago i have chosen. to take my chances back.
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