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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
2003-07-30, 4:44 a.m.

szerelem, szerelem

��������� �����sunrise.

and i here i am, utterly astounded by the slow yawning of colour that is lightly brushed against the dark horizon. it's a tender gray right now, a warm pearlescence, tenuous and uncertain. like the throat of a clam.

it's funny because i remember that it's not the sun that's doing the rising. it's the earth that's turning, into the light. which i guess i'd always sort of known before, but now only became consciously aware of. perhaps that's why sunrises are so primal - we're tuning into the rotation of the cautious earth, like a child who hid his bashful face now revealing it from the shadow of his cupped hands.

here, there are slammed doors in the parking-lot and the babble of morningvoice mild and muffled. moths die away from the screen of my window, nonplussed by my refusal to let them at their addiction to my desklamp. they seek other, brighter bulbs. or sigh mutely into bushes, antennae twitching. the spill of shadows from small trees stretch in another direction. the negligee of night slips off another inch, and peach on the horizon is revealed, delicate and blushing.

how many times have i/can i write about the sunrise, the ocean, the moon, the sunset, the night sky, etc etc. (silences stretching between the planets, vast and turgid, thick & untrustworthy) many many many. the primal force of it, the shift and totter, the unwieldy trust of gravity, like a mother's gripping hand on her child as they cross the street. it's a morning that - if i ran - i would be running. if i worked early hours, i'd just be rolling over in the bleak murmuring of bedsheets, slapping at a hoarse alarm and (fending away these rogue adjectives tonight!) moaning. go back to sleep.

tonight i have resolved not to sleep, through some sort of insanity on my own part. i have work in a few hours, until three, at least, and then another incredibly insane rehearsal wherein it will stretch from 630 to ... possibly 11. i did expect this, i suppose. jason & i frequent tim horton's at late nights, now. i end up getting donuts. this is generally a bad idea, one, monetarily, two, fat-wise. not that i stand any chance of getting fat, but it's not healthy.

an odd feeling tonight, of lazy-laid-back indulgence. (this might be the halfdozen donuts seated primly nearby in their little timmeh's box.) lex spoke of her days lately being shitful and horrendous, and blamed it on the nearness of mars to the earth. conversely, this could be why i'm enjoying my weeks so much recently - being of the aries zodiacal sign, mars is my home planet.

this zodiac astrology stuff is all very fascinating, and also probably bullshit.

i still have 5 hours left to go this morning. i don't know if i can make it. an odd tired feeling has snuck over my eyes and spread itself like oil over my eyelids. and slowly, like curtains on a stage, they are propelling downwards. this is a markedly bad thing. we progress, according to the "kemetic" calendar, into the "days-that-aren't" tomorrow. the Intercalary Days, five of which, due to some odd clause or stipend in old egyptian mythology, do not exist, are called "rogue" days in their calendar. rather like our leap day.

the brasilian folks also returned today - corey, josie, ariel & mike et al had returned, amidst a clutter of baggage and props, all in various shapes or sizes. you could almost smell the foreign country rolling off of them. i remember looking at josie and going, internally, "man. now she's one up on me. got more experience. more to write about." they spoke of brazil, the amazing coffee, the blue butterflies, and the dingy town where one of the girls was mugged - belem. said: bay-lehm. a muggy city. and natal. said: nah-tahl. white beach, tourists, sand, water. beauty all around.

and so i hope to hear more of their trip. to encourage myself, prod myself, to go further in the world.

excuse me. the sun is rising, i want to go watch it struggle over the trees.

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�SEH