Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die.
It's all I want; to live by the mountainsides and wear ugly skirts, see
the lakes frequently, and grow old silently with a good friend.
I want to have it all. Time.
To create substance and disconnect, but be kept connected at the same time.
I could learn to make bread and pastries, we could own a small bakery
in a small Alps village where no one ever visits but the locals occasionally.
Maybe we'd still have to think about not having papers to buy a lot of things.
I'm still unsure how we could escape that particular need and
preserve this imagined peace (I don't ever think we can), but
to not be kept unhappy behind screens to munch up numbers forever,
doesn't everyone want that? Isn't it a crime we all execute differently?
Should we let loose? Be reckless? Would you run away with me
when the time comes that I call you up and tell you, "I'm running away tonight,
if you come with me I'll give you all my time until I bore the fuck out of you. If you're
staying here, I hope you'd remember my name after I hang up this call."
Escapism is a fatal intoxication.
