at 2 am everything is still.

the suburbs whisper to me in their iridescent solitude. streetlamps stare as the fury of traffic beckons in the

distance. imagine a disquieting quiet, the sounds of silence too painful to bear. perhaps this is the sublime -

something so grand and eloquent that dwarfs even my most majestic of thoughts. it is dark and elusive,

slithering past and swallowing you as you grasp at the corners of reality. sometimes i fall right into it, right into

the heart of this suburbian onmipresence, and i am left alone in this calming distress. it is like an opium, lulling

and drifting, enchanting and bewitching. but beneath the warm tiretracks and cold stone tables something else

is at work. something grand, something great and something i can't even begin to imagine.

but this is the suburbs. and at 2am everything is still.