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
2003-06-11, 2:39 a.m.
hearts stars clovers
���������
�����too tired to enter.
but still want to. good rehearsal tonight. week is unfolding slowly. best buy is a no go. eddie bauer here i come. good long talk with jason tonight in the lounge. eyes closing. skies dark. too introspective.
"do you want a wife and kids someday?"
"i want to be happy"
-- yes, that. and without being less ambiguous
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�SEH