Echo me, Astronaut.

There's a hole in my wall. Strange, it looks as if the doorknob made it, but there's a door-stopper on the baseboard. Perhaps it was put there after the hole was made, but what good would it do if there was already a hole in the first place? It bothers me. Through my peripheral vision it looks like a fat black spider, with its legs all curled under it, waiting for someone (probably myself) to let their hand linger a little too close, let their fingers get dangerously near to eight, shiny black eyes, and two, bloated pincers. Then of course, it'd bite and I'd be more scared than hurt. I'd jerk back, natural instinct of course. And the spider would fall, and crawl into a dark corner, and it'd hide there till the night, when it'd creep out for its delightful revenge.

Then I remember it's just a hole in the wall.

This room has no furniture, it looks too small for it anyway. Currently, it's a room with one actual bed, one camp-bed, and vinyl, wood patterned floors. She said it was real hardwood before we moved in, but she confessed later it was just vinyl. Vinyl wood floors feel like a lie. It looks like hardwood, but it was really just a roll of plastic material that a sweaty, smelly man rolled onto the floor. I guess what I'm trying to say is that vinyl floors have no integrity.

in·teg·ri·ty   
[in-teg-ri-tee]
–noun
1. Adherence to moral and ethical principles; soundness of moral character; honesty.

I feel like these vinyl floors.


Semi colons are my favourite form of punctuation, but I'll admit, I have never used one correctly, unless Microsoft Word corrects my imperfect grammar and suggests I use one. If I was a word, would I be incorrect? Would I have a red squiggle underneath me, and if you right-clicked, what would be a better alternative to have instead of me? I wish I could right-click and fix a lot of things. Or ctrl-x all my problems away.

I should end this ramble with something that actually matters, or even makes a little bit of sense. But instead I'll end this on my current thought of this exact moment:

Mark Linkous, the world misses you, or at least I do.
YOU are worth hundreds of sparrows.