Boy do i hate sleeping so much i don't think i'll ever do it again, going on that i keep getting confused:

It’s not Me it’s the
Postironic Cyborg Parts
for Rayon

Just before you can
flick the switch
and hit up the otherside
of this mobius strip,
playback gets choppy.
Another application must be using
most of the available
power in the central processor.

That means you’ve set your
QuickTime for windows
as a much lower priority
than complete control
of the universe.

Expressing yourself here
on an atom
entranced by electrons swirling
is strenuous
and speaking French
is like retarding my thoughts,
what with them all tied up to my mouth,
so
sitting on that nucleus
distracted by those fucking
flying spheres
while mutilating the
language of love
left me heaving.

It must have sounded completely
one-sided.
A scratched CD
playing on blown speakers;
treble all hiss,
bass a simple rustle,
cutting in and out,
stuttering incessantly.

But he seemed to understand,
and I don’t think
he minded all the time
I’d wasted
getting to him what I meant.
So that night
in desperation
we found each other.
And the void
stood down
in the face
of friendship.