Imogen Heap

Vinyl on laminate. I can be experimental if I want, but is experimentation scarified on the alter of explanation for the sins of the simple? I think so. I've grown much recently. Its killing me. I'm finding new pieces of myself, falling in love with the act of living all over again. Its like being reborn everyday. But sometimes I just want to sleep. Is that fair? No, no its not! screams the eternal producer of the educated population. It screams at me to not do the things that make me live. The machine tells me to wake up early and do all my homework on time. OR ELSE. or else what? will I cease to exist? I think not. However, I comply. Not for fear, but for complacency. I would rather not be noticed. I'm feeling freed but tethered, its a strange place to be in. Blood rushing to paint my handprint...

AND another thought: My insane desire for creative release, for an outlet for the spiritual explosions inside of me, is a desire for worship. My soul is providing me with a way for real personal worship.