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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
2003-06-24, 3:01 a.m.

it's a hanging kind of night

��������� �����finding a bizarre need to recultivate. as if i were a garden of immorality. of out-of-date. tonight is soundtrack of 'seven mary three' and 'mike doughty' formerly of soul coughing fame. thanks to peter.

saw 'finding nemo' tonight and was impressed. but i'm really looking forward to when i go to see 28 days later this friday. and later today when i go out to the mall (yes, again, another halfhearted entry to secure a job. sigh.) peculiarly stagnant, and a throbbing headache behind my right eye. something trying to get out. i may or may not be attending a wedding with tara this weekend in bar harbour. one of her high-school friends. lots of random errata lately. fragmented days spliced together to make one large deranged conceptual art sculpture. sitting online and cleaning up the room at the same time. wish i had a rug to put down. or .. something. lightning bolt tonight over the hills, past anderson, etc. want to be healthier. to know the "secret" of looking good.

tara tonight: "but you look good because you're who you are - you're an individual, you should be proud of that."

i remember mumbling something. we were sitting at the foot of her bed looking into the mirror. i didn't look. she motioned to her lap and i misinterpreted and sat behind her. arms around her shoulders. "i'm so vain," i mumbled. we're getting ready to go to a rehearsal. "i feel like i have to look really good."

"why?" she asked. "do you have a crush on someone in the cast -- oh, that's right ..." and i blushed furiously. i forget where the conversation went from there.

a couple of good occupied nights. not just sitting indolently around, frustrated. to a show, to a movie, to rehearsal tomorrow night (it was cancelled tonight) and ... such. i feel so jumblemouthed in public. can't quite talk right, always stuttering a word or two out in the wrong way, tactlessly, the first to jump to my mouth. i could just say whatever and shrug it off and be an arrogant asshole, but why would i do that...?

the naked chest of some girl on tv. girls gone wild, fuzzed out a bit. the mark of lips on a glass - tara's, i think, and the slight residue of green mountain dew in the bottom. how my closet is made up entirely of clothing i finally feel comfortable in. steadily building a sense of self around materialism and superficiality. feeling comfortable on the outside but less so on the inside. increasingly more self-conscious and babbletongue around people. hating it. need a haircut. i'll get one tomorrow before rehearsal. night-cycles too fast for me.

back to some reading maybe. or a jog. i feel ... fat, in an odd way. and yet i couldn't be more emaciated? oh male anorexia, don't set your oprah-tainted claws in me! it's impossible anyway. oh i'm feeling very alonely.

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�SEH