this isn't happening.

i'm reading someone else's words as i let itunes feed me radiohead songs.

it's outrageously good stuff, (t)his.
reading his observations is a constant déjà vu of scenes i've never managed to put into words. at least not that well. and not in that language, anyway.
i get 95% of musical references, too.

it's sending electric currents down my spine and legs and arms into my fingertips, eventually hanging around in that hollow spot in my stomach. imploding. imploding. imploding some more.

fuck these implosions and the hyped-ness, too:
it's freaking me out.

this is a classic case of over-identification. or something.

there are two options now:

a) going into full on fan-mode; or
b) developing a serious crush (it's crazy, i'm thinking) including the strong desire to get into that persons' pants.

the first is a non-option, really, totally ridiculous and oh-so-passé. the latter not exactly realistic, pratical and/or "grown-up". if acted out, however, it could be "adult", though. he.
i'm on a mission to find a third option.

scary shit.
me, i'm so beyond cool, my non-coolness, it's getting absurd.

i'm not here. this isn't happening.

[in my appartment, the fasnet parade sounds like the orc's battledrums in the halls of moria. with some extra rattles and bells.]