having the house to myself these afternoons battling the cad robots, the stillness broken only by the words that speak to me through the songs that i fill every corner with, out loud, my favourite tunes that take me through the episodes of my life which are segmented in theory but a cloudy, dizzy blur in actuality. i guess i am independent in this way, the quiet child within me is most peacable with my own campany, and tea, and music sounds, the outside frames concrete towers with perforated corridors, the sky outside is a blue template with specks of green, they don't register in a banal way when there's all this pretty music curling around my head, invisible scribbles. the space extends but i'm in a room of my own. it could be the ye-ye girly sounds of b badot or francoise hardy [ i think, i'm an old child, i'm here but i feel like i've been there, my vivid imagination works very well for me, i imagine and therefore i am] or beauteous soundtracks [always puts me in an float, love me if you dare with its sad music of minor chords, gattaca and i think that swimming scene, finn or eternal sunshine, 2046 with the christmas song on repeat] or the spacy [digital] sounds of the sea and cake. i like it this way, i like how when i switch on the music and i'm alone, cadding from the mundane becomes slightly enjoyable, surreal because while i'm typing on keys, it's california dreamin' in my head, in that other abstract place i can go to that no one can.