wake up whistling

2003-12-20, 2:58 a.m.

the best part about this fishing knife, the one with rusty sudes from cramped spaces, is how i forget to close it. my luck is so poor with sharp objects, i know it, i've always known that. the middle section has cresting waves of metal, reminding me of my drawings when i was seven -you smile too much paul, you'll need to work on that- and i was alarmed by foreshadow.

oh that is richness, that is the multicolored sprinkles that turn your tongue muddy colors, red clay and sienna mud stuck to the wheel well. all i know is the thoughts which cling like loose hairs to your fingers, the ones that twist with your desparate fingers, the ones that bond to moist lips. i know why they stay stuck and what needs to occur (oh to shave it all off with a swift razor!).

i need to paint, for my sister, she is always teh hardest to shop for.