"...and there are things going on that nobody knows about,
invisible things that don't fit on the spectrum, it's like living your life twice,
second time not right, kind of it's inside-out,
some people think fast-spin
is just another setting
on their washing machine dial,
but every human gyro knows
the thought process benefits greatly
from getting gently spun out
every once in a while,
they've put me in the wrong flat, I told my carer,
but she didn't listen,
these are the wrong vibrations,
there are wavelengths here gone missing,
can you smell fish?, it's from downstairs, from the shop,
I reall don't want to live here,
heat rises in the summer,
it'll get too stuffy, I don't like to be hot,
there is symmetry though, which is appealing,
at least I can arrange things properly,
and restore some equilibrium
as I fall back down from the mental ceiling,
my carer said this would be like a breath of fresh air,
sort of like a holiday,
she talks to me like I'm thick or something,
she thinks my existence is neither here nor there,
I need to establish my lines of communication,
get the television and computer working,
rig up all my lights,
to anti-spikes,
that activate after millisecond deliberation,
you will never enter my spectrum, you know,
never know the power of numbers,
never feel the force of lines,
nor will you ever regulate
your ever-racing pulsebeat,
or adjust yourself to live outside the grip of time,
I need to get hooked up, soon as possible,
my friend, she's not anymore, she said
she was going to delete me,
I never deleted anybody, ever,
if she does delete me, she's horrible,
this flat is nice but I don't like the zone,
I won't be going out much, if at all, really,
and I'll get everything delivered,
and look out my window at the world
of the neurotypical clone,
I get strong feelings of apprehension,
in a new place, with the onset of night,
where it's all strange,
but it's obvious to me,
that the planets aren't correctly aligned,
something like that could put me in a spin for days,
take me out of general circulation,
give me a problem with no solution,
as concentration blurs out at the edges,
and reason melts into the golden haze,
I can see colours, colours you can't see,
I hear sounds that pass you by, on my frequency,
unseen and unheard, like a drifting owl in the night fog,
the power pack of the mind runs silent,
like the wolf in the dreams of the dog,
I'll keep the lights on all the time, in every room, bright bulbs,
and recite the alphabet backwards in my head,
and line up the kettle with the toaster,
and get all my other routines in place,
and find my compass to orientate my furniture and bed,
I sense things that you don't know about,
that hide on the bleached-out edges of dreams,
and I have to deal with them my way,
with laughter choked out of the screams,
look at them on the television, look...,
why do those presenters always dress like they've come from a club?,
or just fallen out of bed or something?...
if you phone up and complain, they don't listen to what you say,
they've put my progress on hold again,
it's going to be one of those days..."