and sight–i used to see a lot of things unfolding when i looked away, like faces caught in emotion in cigarette smoke from someone’s cigarette when we were sitting on a bench and me looking at the clouds, or a something that might be a sprite or maybe a demon coming from the shadows cast by a chair i was walking by, anything. the world just kind of jumped out all around, like a kaleidoscope all about what i was focused on. the subway, i remember, was a nightmare, all these forces struggling around me, and i would look and there would be a gum wrapper twisted on the ground, a businessman staring at his shoes, a grimy bar handle. it didnt feel real, that’s for sure, it felt like comics, each moment captioned. except no one was looking cept me. nothing wanted to be looked at but had to be felt. it was like noise, just a lot of noise like when you turn a radio in-between stations or that fuzz shit on the tv. i remember i liked to stand around trees, they glowed, they were smooth. but even them had murmurings whispering away in my mind, dancing around my eyes, made me want to lie there forever just breathing. there was never what i would call peace—it was just some things were broken and some things were smooth, flowing. it was all these stops, you see, like i couldnt stand being around traffic, all that wasted energy, i couldnt see anything like that, i had to go to my room, lie in the dark, listen to my aquarium running, stare into the dark. yeah. i made sure no light could come in, that way i couldnt see nothing, there was nowhere to focus, nothing to scream for attention when it wasnt being seen. that way i could feel things and i wouldnt have to look, wouldnt have to be scared of what i might never see.