I’m the Dark Thoughts Machine, Baby. I’m lying right next to you and the Dark Thoughts Machine is revving up in my head. The gears are turning and the teeth are gnashing and Every Day, Every Month, Every Year gets fed into the maw and debarked by the terrible machinery. Every Slip of the Tongue, Every Flippant Remark, Every Misunderstanding is put through the Rumour Mill until I have enough lumber stacked in the attic of my mind to build a shaky house on sinking sand. I put out a thousand board feet of Dark Thoughts a night while you lay beside me, sawing logs. There’s a hurricane brewing and you sleep in the eye of the storm. The Dark Thoughts produce a shadowy miasma that spreads out across the bed and coats the back of my throat. It collects in the corners of the room and drips it’s gloom and your eyelid separates and you ask me to open the window “…just a crack.”
Just a crack. It always starts with just a crack.