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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
2003-04-01, 2:09 a.m.

i am productive & settled.

��������� �����an emotional day.

a good night.

it snowed, was bitterly cold, and i had to park in lower freshman lot. at one point i stared at the brisk, clean stars of standish, maine. york county. if i had driven any further, the car would have ran out of gas somewhere on route 25, lined with the sentinels of branchless trees. the car would have simply shuddered down - lights out, smoke ceasing to pipe from the tail ... red lights and cold air sliding inside.

wishing for a striped windsor tie. and a blazer. and oxfords. and pants that swish when you walk. dockers. a clean, swept-back hairstyle. a college quadrangle to walk quickly through, arms stuffed with books on physics and quantum mechanics. a coffeeshop later on. fall leaves. concrete.

no more urban decay & terror-stricken news from baghdad and how we "may have underestimated" the iraqi defence, as if this whole War was a World Cup game that we've been playing badly -

i would like very badly nowadays to be sitting down under a spring-draped tree and to be completely aware of everything and completely ignorant of myself.

earlier today i drew a picture of a man in a trenchcoat and called it "the stonecutter" - then i tore it up. i think about travelling. to some distant place with some distant girl. bright eyes - i want a lover i don't have to love - placing bowls of raspberries on tabletops.

i draw the curtain, glance at the clock, and murmur about sleep.

eventually, i will.

eventually.

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�SEH