brutally honest

2004-07-08, 9:46 a.m.

i had no words to say three days ago. i had a tongue that was drunken and beaten, it moved slowly like a snake who missed the heat of the sun and could only dream in frozen shades of bitter blues and grays.

i dont know why i let it happen in this manner, as though i never paid attention to the traps on the carpet, and i didnt think of the bleeding hearts i could crush into pulp if my fantasy came to fruition. i saw these things, but my stomach is still rumbling, and the food i eat falls into a corner and becomes stale and hard like three moonth old french bread.

so what do i do? i am blessed again with a mind that operates in assorted tones of unheard phrases, those are let out into the air, but not when i intend it. so now ive given them a few hours to breathe, the words stack up into wooden blocks that form a figure, and they fall down with the elegant strokes of entropy lashing across that figures features.

i suppose i dont expect anything to come out of this venture, fun indeed, but i try to stop short of anticipating a miracle.