Maybe it's because I'm listening to the Kills, and the Kills make me feel dirty usually. In a good way. And to me, that's disconcerting. It shouldn't feel good, I don't think, and in a way it doesn't. But in a way it most certainly fucking does. It's an insatiable lust of physical desire which drives on an engine in my head that's constantly in the red. Maybe it's the excitement of driving dangerously. Maybe that's what keep my gears grinding bare. Un-oiled. Raw. It hurts, but so does fear. Maybe running from that is what keeps the pedal down, as the engine claws and shudders and the needle ticks forward. It's begging for a loud bang at the end. Something fatal and caustic and life-changing. And fatal again so as to be poignant. But not fatal in that term as an end to the timeline. A forever pause to a familiar pulse. No, not that. I don't want to die. I just feel dead inside.
