i really should pay more attention, maybe i can stop the fits of stupidity

2003-01-14, 7:24 p.m.

we are old when what we have stolen is piled in our heads like trash. corners become rounded. i couldnt say i am there, and i couldnt say i will ever be there either; memory banks are flooded so i call it a longterm emergency. there, in between the folding lines of space, supposed static flow, plates of ice that move with seamless perfection.

tonight, you could see the lack of light by 6 o clock; not in the sky but in the trees and on the peoples faces. not like anyone was worried, but the oak trees had a system of outreached fingers. i couldnt stop thinking of the nerves in a tooth; these were nerves piled on nerves, with nothing to receive; nothing but the soft silver sky. so i walked, and i had my head crossing each zig zag formation, my nerves are frayed enough, so i could have closely resembled a spark plug, had anyone been looking.

maybe that is the light needed, the clue to your abandon, your rope, being thrown from the dock, sinking into the black oil ocean. here, the banks have flora, the banks have little homes with wooden trimmed windows, flat roofs (such a defiance of nature, a bravado, senior discount for a dying man) so you dont need an attic. here, the shores have sandy beaches, not to nice, but no rocks and no clear jellyfish bloated on the waterline. what is out there could never be talked about, because those clouds seem so thick, molasses water, people squirm at a glance, and define it as impossibility when they gaze.

explorers, they have been titled, shackled, and put securely into the square peg of senility; no journal or writen account could ever be notarized at the edge of humanity.