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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
2003-04-26, 12:59 p.m.

i wear my heart on my sleeve, my clothing is soaked with rain

��������� �����suddenly i'm writing songs.

i woke up this morning and it was raining. i didn't have to look out the window to know and no part of my body ached - it just was. raining. thin rain, too, like it was barely interested in gracing the earth with its presence. today is a jason mraz day. "after an afternoon" - [something in the way you laugh / and it makes me feel like a child] -

and suddenly i'm writing songs.

sometimes i wonder if the horrible feeling swings like a biorhythm, attached blackly and thickly like a horror-movie parasite to the weatherchanges. or the fact that i had to get up early when all i wanted to do was lay in bed under a great big window star-struck with the drops of rain and the shifting monoliths of gray clouds like slumbering beasts trying to wake up with me. in sync.

got a b on that ridiculous global enlightenment paper. a b on the test. betsy IMs me. "if you and corey are on a hugging basis, could you hug him for me?"

"why, is he sad?"

"no, i just miss him // a lot"

"it's a missing kind of day."

i am very happy with music right now. but it's a spot of happy like warm tea in the throat. the old obsession is rearing a horrid head.

rachel out of the theatre last night -"mark left." she says. and i say "he didn't come tonight." and she said "oh, someone said someone who looked like him ran out right at the end." i pause for thought. i'd run out to turn lights on, etc, as my job mandates. "that was me." pause for thought. she catches my eye. "don't."

the rain. oh if i was ... cliche is that the right word? ... i would quote dar williams or CSNY or ani or whatever folky music was on my mind for the quoting of the drizzle, the submerging feeling of gray gray gray -

suddenly i am writing songs [i am a folded-up origami boy, i am made of brown leaves / tucked into new england's pocket, i don't think i'm naive / it's amazing, the rain is gray today - grayer than any other year]

across the globe tokyo is falling; around the corner, california's calling / i'm figuring out what i forgot i knew - and the beginning has yet to be through ..

suddenly. turn turn away.

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�SEH