/ new
/ old
/ book
/ email
/ aim
/ profile
/ host

/ poetry
/ zenbox
/ old drama

/ radiomigration

/ negating ouroboros

/ drivel .001

/ wasteland & further; waiting for a slaughter

/ 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

2003-02-28, 4:00 a.m.

one more bottlecap

��������� �����i just thought i'd post this.

it looks so much like when you go to the optometrist and he takes a picture of your eye, on the little polaroid tucked into your folder -

http://sec.noaa.gov/SWN/

in other news : the world continues revolving and the night continues unwinding and the lovers continue to embrace amniotic in their castles of glee - eventually. i'm writing a song in here. perhaps i'll run a tally of my sleeping cycles in here :

SLEEP DEFICIT = 3

meaning the past three nights have been wakeful and bloodshot, leaving daytime hours to accrue with the thick residue of sleep ... oh, and i am quitting "eggs over eric" today at some point. i can't continue to do it. unhealthy, for a variety of reasons. i feel like calculating my insides today, their functions, their tides and their rises and falls,

like a stock market exchange of the circulatory system, bulls and bears rioting up and down, clamouring for a close. poor, haggard red&white blood cells, bulls and bears, suited up and waiting for the bell to ring.. for sleep to ensue. we can only hope the economy of my physical being isn't about to crash.

sneaky tricks and underhanded politics! my body is gerrymandering against me. o body politic, o foul president starting war with my stomach! nothing nuclear, please. people are sleeping, and the casualty count would be astronomical -

postscript : if i ever have a son i will name him sebastian.

prev / next

�SEH