Vinyldates

Cotton in my head. Thoughts lounge in the chaos. They circle, float, do not settle and brush against each other like a storm of emotions and images. Blurred, intertwined: a symbiosis of illusion....

I lay my soul on tarry asphalt- the whispers of days gone by penetrate clattering forests, the wood has been felled- the old coffee crushed in mills; brewed again, black, cold, dark; the light streams in from outside and gets caught in the whispering...