Kala

by Colin Walsh

A home, darling, is a mirror to your inner life.

Feels like your bones have been in a fridge. Slap your cheeks. Take a selfie to check your reflection. Could be worse. Who cares.

life’s indifferent. It’s got enough joy and shite in it to mirror whatever you’re bringing to the table, day in, day out.

suburbs are perfect cradles for dreaming: they practically beg you to imagine another life, one lived at a burning voltage.

inside every person, beneath all the faces they prepare for the world, there’s a mewling animal, trembling and alone.

there’s this whole animal being to everyone and that in this animal being there’s a point where you and everyone else in the world can meet, but sure, what sort of a way would that be to go through the world? constantly crushed by the humanity of others?