December 30, 2003

It was all before the sun had set, and the chair was quite uncomfortable.
the ragged ends of her speech droned through like a hive, and the chair was swallowing her whole.
outside, the waiting room was stoic and filled with medications, lulling themselves into an office party as the elevator christmas music blared through speakers (set above signs telling people not to touch the volume).
It’s an insatiable need, this, but I don’t want you to give it to me.

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December 30, 2003

She looked down at the city and wondered why there was no ground.
focus, please, this will affect your life somehow.
Sitting in plastic chairs, like anesthetics.
Addictions, placid like pools of rain water that fell five years ago and refuse to evaporate.
Counting stars, never to reach and end. Infinity, she said. Because they always died when she thought she was finished. Six more to be born. Count always, love.
Ring of bruises ’round the neck.
wash them out with open sores and see the neck weep.
Rivers.
It’s all salt water and I’m drowning in the air.

December 28, 2003

It was effectual, a mixing of some sorts. Not affectual. Exceptions were made in order to accept the fact that there were no reigns and the world had already ended and the apocalypse was celebrating it’s birthday.
Forests turned to a haven, as the cell phone rang off the hook, scratchy voices rasping over the ends like frayed shoelaces.
Took too many. damn fault it was. So thou shalt apologize and make worth what she can and not look back.
read a chapter and be done with it, the oracle said, blind eyes looking straight ahead.

December 22, 2003

this is the moment that we know.
this is the chaos that we hate and love.
He knows. part of me doesn’t care, but the other half wants to rip itself into quarters and run to the four compass rose directions.
North is where I dwell, thoughts and words mingling into a jumbled mass of conversation and arts.
south I curl up and sleep, warmth of a death-like slumber. West the mispellings of names and misinterpretted meanings and faces. the sores, and scars. I hold the pencils there along with a peice of bread, in case the birds should come again.
East is the end of the world. I hold all I see through dark grey clouds, in a distance through a prophetic orange ball.
Can’t talk about it now.
Electric energy, pouring and singing though my body. it’s rhythm is pi, what repitition.

December 22, 2003

Finding a focus.

December 21, 2003

raped.
nothing of the sort, but a mind fuck was definatly in order.
the bottle is almost empty and three more are sitting neatly on the shelves begging for refills.
What is that compared to a drink in the falls?
empty sided mirrors.

December 20, 2003

artistic reminisc, a framed set of photos.
burned out negatives.
[this is the edge]

A barbar’s adagio.

December 20, 2003

Where? Ah.
To the end. Sing the sorrows and trail the silvan scent.
Come in out of the rain, thou sayest, but thou never steps aside.
I pull you over to me, your lips on my mouth, biting the lips, hands grasping, holding, pushing, pulling, there.
Pressing ourselves to eachother, held together by the centrifugal force of passion and need, your ears, your eyes, your hands, your lips.
liquid man.
What?

December 19, 2003

Pushing through, one can find answers. steal away this skin and tell me the tale of how this came to be. Chaos grabbed me hand and begged me jump over the river. So I jumped and landed upside down in the drain pipe, sleeping soundly with nothing but a sheet to keep me warm.

It’s about life.
It’s about this.
It’s about stars.

The truth is, I lied.

December 19, 2003

It’s privacy I want, not dictation. And so I wander through this empty world, hand in hand.

Entry one: How the world ended and what she did.
It was a royal disaster, and everything was shining blue. The roses had burned down to the candel wicks and the children had laughed themselves to tearful thoughts. No one really noticed the end, it was as if the house had become to warm and it was now time to take a walk outside. The tables were still set and the beds were made, but the roofs were missing.