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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

2003-06-20, 3:49 a.m.

derelict ships sail placidly in the thick night sky

��������� �����a lot of pain tonight.

and a lot of sadness. right now, hearing birds outside the window, somewhere across the parking lot which is a calm, derelict oil spill slid away from some bay in alaska. everything is pale-prickled with the odd rain that fell unannounced earlier. a sheen, like everything is sweating, but it's not hot.

tumbleweeding between emotions, thoughts. things i will never say in here that you can only guess at. thrumming heartpain and thundering sadness, like pans clattering in a kitchen of the mind. derelict words. splintered and disjointed attempts at anything. sitting. staring blankly.

overwhelmed by something i can never process. all i know is what i can currently feel.

a blankness that's nearly peaceful. the night is a big blankness. the sky ready for what i want to imprint on it. the paths cleaned of all day's grime and the scurf of emotions. only interrupted once by a passing policeman asking us for our IDs. mindless ranting about the complexity of human social interaction. honesty & dishonesty. inevitably. free will and predestination. hatred & love. something inexplicable that goes beyond love that can only be expressed in the word 'connection' - no, it's not even beyond .. it just is separate.

things i can't even begin to explain and won't, right now. a pleasant isolation. comfortable because i don't have to see myself. and i see myself as happy. even though i know it's an illusion. i don't have to look in a mirror and break it.

piano-playing with my emotions back and forth, like a chopin etude. something violent and scarred. i feel as though this is an old beast i'm fighting, with one blind eye and lots of scars. something that grins at me ghastly the whole time. as if ... if i were ever to solve it, i'd be laughed at. and gored. and bleed to death impaled on tusks of fate & predestination. and 'we-knew-it-all-along-anyway'.

and i'm being ridiculous. i wish i did drugs.

there's a hole in the world tonight / there's a cloud of fear & sorrow / there's a hole in the world tonight / don't let there be a hole in the world tomorrow - the eagles

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�SEH