Fractal screensavers drifting across the Mandelbrot set piece of mind.
is this the assessment?
What percentage, Stephanie cigarette pointing, of people you see on the road have a driver's license? how do you know the doctor is actually a doctor? what makes you think they've passed the test? how would you know if they just jumped behind the wheel or grabbed a white coat and had a go? what makes you think that they're qualified to act? who makes you think that? who wants you to think that? maybe they want you relaxed more than they want you anxious.
who is they?
no Stephanie is not in the room with me now. no I can not hear her voice. no I don't believe in ghosts doctor. but in my memories Stephanie appears ghost like and I picture a smoky wraith drifting about the bedsit saying things I thought crazy then. I thought crazy then. no. I think crazy now. then I didn't listen. I want to grab the ghost but the memories drift cheekily through my fingers.
Take solace, you're not the worst abused, as the ash was rubbed absently into the black denim above her knees. Stephanie laughing at the term disabuse like it was something you could undo. Stephanie dancing to Gouge Away in black page lace, the heavy hash smoke wrapping a calisthenic ribbon around her swaying torso. stop thinking about it. don't think about trains for a minute. don't remember.
Is that bad? I asked to the death card before me and standing up, Stephanie dropped the tarot pack to the table, turned away, fingertips dancing beside shoulder blades, hair tossing back and forth muttering "that's too freaky, that's way too freaky."
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