morning

2003-20-10, 10:34 p.m.

Some days i feel the sky vibrating in my mouth, in my heas, like i was humming beethove. Before i go outside, hours before sunset, i've already seen it all one hundred times in my mind (can the inverted waters of 6 o'clock that run through my veins be even more viscose than oil?). 'they say friends don't destroy each other, what did they know about friends', i have my guns drawn for battle, but just like every other day of the week, i don't fire a single shot.

morning comes to me like so many index cards, no connecting fibers to help them make sense; just globules of incoherent information. When your head burns, the things you say to yourself have a radio fuzz to them -is there anyone else here?- especially when it's so startling. if true, the timeline becomes one with simultaneous birth and destruction, like a fuse that is wrought and burned for the air's pleasure.