a teenage boy with a future etched in wood, but wood burns so easy

2003-09-17, 7:40 a.m.

i dont want the strings that tie people together to be held over an invisible flame, the strands tend to their strain, but there is no guarantee that the bonds will hold. i should not be in the height of a tower, watching down on the theories i create, when i have never shaken a single hand, signed a law, made thought transcend scientific theory.

feeling my forehead, a bead of sweat leans off a strand of hair, fresh fruit with a fire skin sagging on a tree limb. what will it take to encompass the end, infinity has a line which becomes discreet, separating into sounds beyond resonation. that is the closed eye with an unreadable sign, the feeling that is jammed in between two nerves, 400 trillion times you could place this line into your body. simple mathematics, simple geometry to find curves and circles, squares in a friendship, multi angled shapes in the midday ocean landscape.

i could make a painting with the strands of hair i pull out of my head, crossing curls, dancing in soft light, i twist them under a candle. sweet smell, infiltrate this base, make this grey mush wrinkled like a navajo elder. sometimes you find out that things clear up when you let your eyes relax; the shapes find moral, and your gears stop grinding.