have you ever crawled around central park? i mean really explored it. it is a magical wonderland. and it is massive*. i ran along the MET and guggenheim before entering the park at the reservoir. it's called museum mile. i ran under troll bridges and over twisted trails. i ran along side an exquisite horse. a real horse. with a really uptight passenger who didn't smile back. runners aren't there to smile, i understand that. but man on a horse galloping though neverland, be light brother. i ran off a poor night's sleep spent wrestling with discontent, voids, and a too-soft new mattress. my father sleeps on his lazyboy in the living room where the AC is. so i get the womb in the back. i don't know how i feel. people keep asking. i keep solving problems for people at work. lighting, time management, communication. and no one is thanking me. at least not to my face. i want to hit a punching bag for a long time. just to get stuff up. i want to feel something. the only feeling i have now is in evening phonecalls where a lover i've never met and i make love and dance and pretend it's real. but i don't feel anything. i'm the hand up my own puppet's ass. i'm hurting and lonely. strange days. only runs are my own. i belong to nowhere. nothing.

*preferably said with a south london accent.

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