30.dec.2003
we make. history. in our sleep.
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history paid
Down's "Jail" is aural heroin. You read it here first, dears.
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Diaryland Gold and Increased Hits Discourse with Jason, My Musical Comrade for Life:
Jason: "Do you just, you know, ever wonder, when checking stats, how many people (and who, for that matter) sit there and think to themselves, 'God, you're fucked up.'?"
Me: "Yes, and I know who. I've slept with him."
Pause.
Me: "All of them."
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I have a revenant close to me. I know who he is. He isn't technically a revenant. It's the projected imago. I take him with me to the music bench. When I play the piano, I usually sit to the far right, left leg crossed over right knee, with my right foot pressing and pressuring and loving the strong pedal with each crescendo. My position is sustained solely for the opportunity for him to slide in next to me, fill those wooden spaces, climb my bass with meticulous finesse, give me something to lean into when 6/7 begins to falter, never hold it against my constricting sides I construct sentences tainted by sheer redundancy.
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You're sleeping. I'm thinking of you. You're iridescent. You shimmer when you reflect. I'm drunk off of the image.
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I want to drug Jubal with music, seduce his cerebrum, tongue his psyche. I want to know what he's thinking when others don't even think to ask, though he's sitting on my task bar as I type this. I want to know just how dark that brain-cache becomes. I want to know if there's any light bleeding through.
On Sundays I would pray to you, so it would never. stop.
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Jersey is after my heart. She sent me a box of home-made candies and delicacies, along with a white teddy-bear I've affectionately named "Ashlar", along with a Christmas card that coos and melts and swirls "darling", "dear", "sweetheart" ... My light is only a reflection of your own.
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Odd redirection of mood. Conjuring images that were otherwise subdued. Flash-thoughts. Vacuous living rooms. Wood floors. Victorian ceilings. Indigo hues.
And a velvet tongue.
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I've never thought of him with anyone, not even me. I always think of him alone.
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Does anyone understand this?
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Covet.
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time & machine