guitar strumming and the speakers humming

2004-11-09, 11:10 a.m.

and i swear i never want that red again. its the way we all fall down that makes the comedy so genuine. i wait for the directors cue, holding my breath while he walks the stage. capricious attention to the detail, i look for the zig zag boot marks on the checkerboard lanolium. a moment of hesitation means his transmission is coming through, the headphones are ringing with words and incoherrent chatting; take the stage now.

there are water bottles all over my room. they look like rebels, finding the nook and crannies so they may siege my frame under the disguises i made for them. a camoflauged plan to supplant (oh dear god the irony is too much, trading tactic for flesh, service for human capital) me is no shock, ive been in the thick of this war more times than i care to admit. and i will know the night time with a dimly shining porchlight, because the older generation of moments became tired of darkness absolute.