the only sound that matters.

somehow, this morning i ended up...here.

i missed my stop.

i failed to change trains.

the niceticketcollectorman on board the train reassured me that all was not lost. i'm sure he could see the look of sheer panic in my face. i didn't pay to go all the way to the airport. maybe this morning was one of those freudian subconscious slips, actualised. i'm intrigued by freud because of his relevance to the surrealism movement, and i appreciate (keyword here is appreciate) his psychoanalysis theories.

however, i'm choosing to hold mr. robert plant fully responsible for this morning's mishap. it's a damn good album and the train is a place where it's possible to just zone out and lose yourself for a bit. here's the internal commentary, if you're interested:

hey...that sounds like patti griffin.


hey...that sounds like one of low's songs. 


hey...this one sounds like one of low's songs too. 


what is going on here? mr. plant covering low? no way! really? cool. 


crap. i'm at the...airport. how did this happen? hey look...a runway! a plane! awesome.


uh oh. i think i might be in trouble. i think i've just broken some train rule...i'm sure of it.

andtheticketcollectormaniscomingmyway. maaaah! i wonder if he'll buy the canadian card i'm about to play. heck, i'm wearing this goofy, floppy knitted hat and a skirt. that should help my cause.