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/ november is a month of ghosts

a grey knive lurking on the corner of the bathroom counter, incongruously balanced on the edge - just about to fall - the light of day leaked into the room like dish detergent being squeezed gently out of a bottle, and over in the corner, rats rustled in a paper bag. he walked into the room to the sound of the ceiling fan slowly misunderstood. his left sneaker squeaked slightly. paper in his pocket crumpled up and a blue crayon behind one ear. a muddy cigarette in one hand and no lighter. his eyes are silently stained-glass windows inside a church with no congregation, waiting for the hollow bellpulls - the doorbell of the Almighty. he takes out a sharpie and marks an x on the wall. moments later a fly buzzes fatly in and lands on the ��������������������������������������������spot, preening and humming to itself. below, at the baseboard, an ant trundles in. he looks at the mirror. he looks away. outside, a bird hits the window, and all things still, in hushed������������������������������������������mourning. an ignorant cricket looses a selfish mating call and
2003-02-24, 2:37 a.m.

& when it melts?

��������� �����music is tegan & sara tonight, which i have not been listening to in quite some time and which i should be listening to more often. the guitar chords sound like what i imagine a seismograph would look like - smooth long passages and then angry jagged peaks rising and falling. angry.

weather today like the sky breaking. as eggs shattering. an odd complacence overall, with varieties and variations of insanity sprinkled throughout. [they are desperate for love & affection] snow&lightning all at once, with the random hiss-whisper of rain like snare drums played with brushes on the window. the wind shaking the ice-laden trees, rattling. disgruntled thunder. everything is crystalline, locked into a sort of disorder, but at least it is locked down. grounded by the thick, encompassing ice.

[i'm free to fly. close your eyes]



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�SEH