tired

2003-14-10, 9:03 a.m.

waking up, i love the 10 second dreams that try to pull you back. in their attempts, like gavity pulling back a rocket, you have to realize the strength before you can wake up completely. even now, 30 minutes after gettting up, the subtle memories make things so fuzzy, and the walls and the letters become strips of construction paper; i take them apart with slow scissor cuts.

when i was 10 i wrote a story about animals taking over the world, and making all humans lear adequate math. the story revolved around dogs in particular, but the reason for making humans learn math was very very unclear, almost like the sliding glass door next to me, which is dripping wet as it tries to un fog itself.

the morning hasnt been warm enough to make my windows drip, i am still wearing clouds of 3 am, the weighted limbs of a tree on my eyelids. wake up, today, because you are not in the permanent dream; the premanent smile.