29.May.2001

concave me

--

today.

The laundry in the dryer, finally, is mine. I am lulled to grogginess by the soft tumbling; I am thinking about white noise, blue heat, the art of hot. Reading over previous writings I tried to allow to take shape, however my vocabulary failed in the process, and two new entities were trashed. An odd fantasy I never finished sprang into view. This fantasy will never be blended with reality. That thought began to amuse and yet depress me.

Depress.

Concave.

My brain-tide is fucked.

--

time & machine