there was an egg in my throat
i could not see tomorrow
it would soon not be here.
my diet consisted of white wine, cigarettes and xanax with the occasional bananna.

I'd wanted my bedroom to be all white when I moved in.
The dining room, tv room and parlour had colors of their own.

For my sleeping room, only white.

The first morning I went to place my feet on the floor, my stomach rose to my throat.
The alps inverted.

How could it be?
With all of my best intentions, with all of my soul. It was gone.

A window broken. A party to attend.

There was nothing I could do but put my feet on the ground and try and move on.

It took me over a year to sleep again.
10 months to eat again.

I didn't think I'd ever see the other side. It was all my fault and he would have me believe none the less.

I was fragile. Emotional. Weak. Needy.

Was I these things? I did not know anymore.
I only knew what he told me. I did not know myself at all anymore.
The sun blinded me.
The nighttime left me lonely. Terribly alone.

I sat. I thought. I contemplated.
I thought I could make sense of it all. I thought I could see myself out of it.

Well, as I can see its been over a year...

A series of unrestful dreams woke me around 4 this morning and somehow led me back here.

The only appropriateness I can subscribe to my initial vision for this "blog" is the color scheme.

WHITE.

The rest is to document.

This image has been one that comes to mind every couple of months after I wake from these dreams. It is an image I've carried around somewhere or another for the past couple of years. An image that represents so many words, yet I've struggled to find the right ones to put into one simple sentence. This image represents one of those moments in life that a person can recall in vivid. A moment when all else in the world fades and there is a focus that creates an unspoken understanding within. I'm not sure all humankind can relate to such a recollection, but from the many books I've read in the past couple years, I'm willing to take a bet there is such a bridge.

Seeing the Alps for the first time was a moment in my life that ranks high 3, most memorable.

There was a quietness inside me when I looked from the plane window. Their vastness and the color made me understand what it means to be as pure as the driven snow. I thought of movies, and humans. In a way as if I wasn't one at all, but merely a spectator. All I could hear was silence and the mechanical hum of the aeroplane propeller. I had been sleeping on his shoulder only a moment before, and when I looked back I thought I saw truth and beauty.

* Dreams of chase scenes led me back here. Oil stained airport runways, and crowded restaurants with Chinese men, drinking, smoking. Tests and escalators, and moments of truth spoken outloud with words never to be heard. This interuption led me here to do something with these images. I suppose I might change the far-fetched format and listen to Yined. I'd really like to take all of this and organize a book. I think I've been writing it for 10 years. I'm becoming largely more aware that if I shan't, these dreams may never subside.