05.Sep.2003

she returns to the burning site

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long after you initiated the blast

I wrote, "I looked into your eyes and saw a world that does not exist; I looked into your eyes and saw a world I wish I was in." on the scapulae of an Asian Adonis before my mother went into the hospital, earlier in August. He was a flesh-imbued canvas of sorts when I ran out of notebook paper.

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While you were busy diving into the Historical Peninsula, I turned twenty-one.

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I literally hate you for all of the memories I cannot stifle from myself. All of them are beautiful and tragic. All of them are absurd and asinine.

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You could do better.

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I walk the everloving walls for you, babe.

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I am the stuff of which drug-tainted pop-songs are made.

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I miss it; I hate that I do.

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I know my future mate must know what a "Lazy Susan" entails.

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Sigur Ros' "Popplagi�" reminds me exactly where I fail repeatedly. I set my den on fire at five in the morning through the surround sound with that song.

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That is all of the drunken, textual ejaculations I have for this morning.

Please wish me well when I awaken later in the morning, hung over, my brain explicably turned into a Roulette wheel.

Place your bets, place your motherfucking bets.

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You know I'm not a saint.

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Goodnight, sweethearts.

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time & machine