Monday, February 28, 2005


some days the entire day is gold star. today was that. gold star. and it started with talk about things from stars and moved on to medals and now it's actual stars. they are probably really red. or green. please at least one orange star. oh, do they have to explode? most likely. that's gotta hurt.

round a corner suddenly hear voices. not like j. of a. but voices in a present presently occupied. that voice is decidedly unnice. how even not attached to a visible face it is somehow scowling. no. not scowling. but worse. condescending? maybe. but no. it just seeks the lowest elevation. so heavy. if there was a star, ten stars, settled on some defining ridge it would remain in a trench. worse it would obscure light. if we were writing poetry it would be like now. it would be like an exploded star. it would be like suction. it would be like absent striving present. but we aren't doing that. neither am i. expounding perhaps. and not very. anyway, the moment the face and the voice merge is dreadful. groping dark until the pull has been lagged. then february sunshine. i remember the sun. i've seen it and it's made of burning gas.

well. enough of that.

my lips are so very chapped. the beeswax is not helping. i think i need me some water. yes. some heavy rest would be swell, too. to that end.


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