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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
2003-03-31, 5:23 a.m.

i am waiting for the downpour to cease

��������� �����it rains. i walk out of the building down the steps, avoiding puddles. toward the theater, and inside.

there are piles of homework. a few open laptops. reports on "the tempest" halfway done, cursors blinking. spanish books held open, phrases scribbled out - puedo ir al bano? - scripts highlighted and coats and backpacks, the low murmur of voices in rehearsal in the next room, because i'm standing in the makeup - they're all in the black box.

i wish i was studious, wish i had organic chemistry homework to do, exacerbated problems and algorithms to figure out, breaking codes, with a mind to rival that of will hunting's, and a relationship like the one he had to ben affleck in that stupid, stupid movie that won't leave me alone -

if wishes were fishes. i put the VHS tape of "good will hunting" on mark's bag, noted which jacket laid next to the half-open backpack, and sighed at the general vagueness of it all. eventually, after walking in and out of that room for a minute longer, pacing around and examining the detritus of studentry, i walked out of the room, and back outside. the dirty clouds shoved along pushily above the bell tower of robie. i mounted the stairs heavily, knowing the destination already -

up the stairs, bang the door, inside, bang the door, hit the elevator, upstairs, unlock the door, sit down at the computer, and sit and sit and sit. that peculiar heaviness. that sinking feeling. clouds in the sky of my heart, absorbing all other emotion, and waiting for a downpour inside of me like it did today.

unfortunately that rain turned to snow, and now the burgeoning spring is iced over with ugliness. i abjure winter and conjure up spring please

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�SEH