so much hidden, so much hiding still

where will you end up? where will you start up? where will you middle up?
i have an irrational anxiety lightly ebbing, south beach as opposed to cottesloe. it consists of home and loved and potential and/or lack thereof. but there is so much! why not just grasp it? you have hands, you have ideas. you have not been digging, love.
listen back, re-compile. create. re-create also, you have it all at your fingertips. administrate, adjudicate.

it is so very necessary to get proper sleep. you must take in the luxuries while you have them, juju, you must absorb all that you can and then expel it again don't just keep it cooped up in there all pidgeon-holed and birdshitdiseased. either that or let it decompose post-mortem first and then see what texture appears. you like that sorta shit.

so potential, hey? frustrating when your most accessed or most natural talent is currently swinging about in the rafters also, having forgotten where the ladder was. teetering on the moulding beams, knowing 5 stories and thick red velvet curtain wait beneath but carefree... hundreds of tiny flashing eyes blinking featherbrained and fearful from darkest corners.
time, m'dear. one way or another you'll hook her. keep paddling out, or climbing up disjointed staircase, or scratching purposefully at the tiny pieces of stuff that create the surface - so much hidden

so much hiding still...