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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
2003-11-03, 3:55 a.m.

november is a month of ghosts

               ah november.

it is four in the morning. the delicate sounds of mogwai are drifting aimlessly like bored ghosts through the air, hands clasped loosely behind their backs.

the song is called "cody". old songs / stay till the end // sad songs / remind me of friends

and november is a month of ghosts. the rain, the half-hearted anticipation of snow. the days are a rubberband slackening. the tail-end of a yawn. slowly shuttering eyelids, machinery humming to a gentle halt. the air is thicker, the sounds taking longer to get to your ears.

mogwai, crooked fingers. azure ray. godspeed. the winter music, sparse guitar & strings, all rolling in a tangle of sound to my ears. cleaned the room. got some work done. not too much. some.

went for a walk with jake last night, around campus. discussing books, the state of the world - friends, mouths flapping, jaws wide. comfortable temperature, indian summer nestled like an afghan over the world. crispy leaves burning in merry smokepiles just over the ridge. talked to sandi online about the "muka" - a german expression for the stumbling block inside my brain. the more i think about writing, the less able i am to do it. and so paradox perpetuates itself, like a psychotically stunted rhubarb plant.

the refrigerator came out of the closet today. we're giving him support and applauding his brave decision. he now resides between the windows, humming mechanically into the night.

rain drizzles methodically, with a set purpose, against the shingles outside the window. i have a bizarre urge to go out walking in it, with a gray umbrella. peter saw the images of the drunk-party and said i looked like the kid from boy meets world. cory. kaylen saw the picture of cody-dressed-as-me and blinked a few times. "you two could be twins," she remarked.

old songs / stay till the end // sad songs / remind me of friends - heartburn and a slight pressure in my chest today. a conscious repression of guilt & terror at the seasonal shifts - whispers of this groaning fear, half vocalized. never quite realized.

i've lost a lot, i think. in the last few years. and gained -- something. can't quite pinpoint what. i wish my brain would just shut off. i wish i had access to more narcotics. they shut my brain down good. and sometimes i need the breather.

sad songs / remind me of ... friends

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