well i guess the thing to do nowadays is to leave it to the professionals, to make us tearful.
I like the little faces---
Spinoza stamps from
here reminded me of dead relation, the second to go that year, swaddled in grey flannel and tubes. kidney bags. next day, we raked his cutlery drawers until our fingers were crumb crusted with mould and ash from months of unwashed sinkloads. we left the doors wide open. Ruby from across the passage gripped the stairwell railing tightly on her way to the housie hall. she wore bright crystals in her hair.
the stamps. there were fourteen plastic bags. unsorted, loose, in envelopes, or glued on. plus the volumes. I locked them in a cupboard under the house. the floor was soft pressed dirt.
i saw 4 bats flying low. it is such a beautiful night.
Goth aide: hello, here is the rain whisking up the dead dust among the little moths with fingernail wings, folding in the viscous whites against the windowpane. please stop it. (end of my tether. really put my foot in it.) two days ago I cut myself the marble index fringe. i have the cheekbones for it, although my face stays silent, even in glass. (but what a death! what a chance! what a surprise!).
looks like
spilt shards of birdcall, ears in fields etc
i thought maybe i wanted to CRACK, so that hairline fissures would lea
k
like
a fluted needle sliding by my coccyx, thinking about work is a right pain in the arse. cause & effect. stocky men with faded ties and no neck. flimsy shirts. rising damp. assume the position. listening to The Necks
Hanging Gardens >> Czukay Wobble Liebezeit
Full Circle
oh no. oh yeah, how horrible. it's all wrong. so just cross it all out. the POINT being { } but it's ok tonight, marc'll save us.
I could never understand the wind at all, was like a ball of love
I could never understand the cosmic sea, was like a bumble bee
