I carried it quietly

All of the framed pieces of art in my apartment hang crookedly.

For lunch, my boss and I got some greek food from this little hole-in-the-wall place taking up half of a gas station. It wasn't in the same strip mall as the gas station; it actually was half of a gas station. Although you'd expect some Mediterranean-class diarrea eating in a place this, the reality is quite different. These guys are as greek (Greek?) as you can get, speaking Aegean or whatever the hell. The terminology escapes me but these sumbitches execute the authentic.

Each time I leave that place I wonder about the physical space. It's awful. You got guys cooking or lambing or whatever on side--you scream at them you want a heee-row (or as I always get, a GYE-roo) and they give you a piece of paper. This paper is then taken to another, different counter where you give it to yet another, different Greek (greek?) dude who rings you up. This paper is stamped and you sit to drink your ginger ale and wait. It takes a long time--longer than it should--for a very soft-spoken g/Greek fellow to feebly mumble your number. If by some chance you hear it, you saunter up in all your slackness and pick up a tray of mythologies.

There's even like a sauce or something on it, I don't know. I'm no connoisseur of yogurt (yoghurt?) sauces, man. It's 2012. Greek (Greek?) restaurants need a yoghurt (yogurt?) sauce sommelier coming round, giving you some wine, recommending sauces for grape leaves and whatnot. The industry booms. Jobs:created.

There's a new Guided by Voices album and it's just nostalgia. Singing 'bout eatin' early morn donuts (doughnuts?) gets you thinkin' 'bout the way things were, the way things ought'n be. Wakin' up from your dream excited to write it down. Walkin' to school seein' people in the trees where you know they shouldn't be. Laughin' and laughin' and cryin' and laughin'. Fightin' sleep just as long as you could knowin' the dreamland is round that corner. When I was young it made sense.

Now it's sleep and black and driving to work listening to news getting informed feeling depressed because the world keeps spinning and when it stops we all fly off, a million billion miles an hour. Light-speed.

Things can be pretty horrifying sometimes. But it's those shadows in the corner of your room, hiding behind the door, what give relief in an all-too-needed physical sense. Running your hand across the surface and feelin' the impurities. The splinters are feedback.