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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
2003-04-10, 7:11 p.m.

cotton

��������� �����watching the matrix again. for the third time ever. i think i may have formed a new obsession with this endlessly inventive universe that was manufactured in this movie -

listening to switchfoot & phantom planet. wish i had what i needed / to be on my own / 'cause i feel so defeated / and i'm feeling alone / and it all seems so helpless / and i have no plans / i'm a plane in the sunset / with nowhere to land

and ... i could tell / from the moment i woke up / it was gonna be a lonely lonely lonely lonely day / even though the sun is shining down on me / and i should feel about as happy as can be / i just got here and i already want to leave / it's gonna be a lonely lonely lonely lonely day / everybody knows that something's wrong / but nobody knows what's going on / we all sing the same old song / when you want it all to go away / it's shaping up to be a lonely day

a deep-throated melancholic sound that vibrates - thickly - even though the day is beautiful. a double sort of energy. i woke up to walk down the road toward the bus this morning after a good six hours of sleep, deeply inured in a Mimic, walking briskly. the sun had that summer-feel, the warmth that soaks into your skin rather than feels cold on the outside of it - (pardon me, not very poetic. will endeavour to post a list of definitions that go along with my Obsession later - )

and the warmth continued. only now will the temperature slide downward, from 50 to 40, and further, perhaps. i need to find something else to ramble about, to use as metaphor - the weather, nature .. it's all so very overrated. and cliche.

a synthetic weave of fibers - emphasis on the "synthetic" -

not that this is in any way, shape or form interesting or even emotional to read - but if you feel like it, leave a note, comment, or sign the guestbook, mm? let me know you're there.

or don't. it's more fun having ghosts pass by

(tomorrow's entry will be more poetic, i promise)

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�SEH