01.July.2001

July

--

But I have to say I walk right through it

June drifted off in a kind of drunken consciousness; July comes on in a central heat-blast into my brain, completely sober. I do not like this.

I was completely disturbed last night by trivial things, felt naturally unspecial, as per usual, held willingly down over the failures and let go eventually. It was the only thing I succeeded in doing completely.

I was filled with antipathy, pounded through my mouth with lust, struck with the rare case of vulnerability, insanely jovial, violently soaring through conversations with metallic aplomb, and that was just last night.

Some days, it's magically easy to be real; others, it's magically easy to crawl back into the hole of coverlets from which I first emerged. The cosmic imbalance is what keeps me interesting.

So June was like a lingering melody in a Recoil song, booze and all attached. I have the taste of stale cigarettes in my throat. Perhaps July will be embraced in the ass-kicking manner in which it was supposed to be. I am no longer hopeful, I no longer contemplate my goals, or lack thereof. I would much rather go where the day takes me.

The sun-tide appears to be carrying me to Dallas; and if not there, Italy.

Swallow me whole, baby, and call me profound.

--

time & machine