Monday, October 30, 2006


This last moment on a Monday I was in a movie theater at some point. And it was strange how empty it was. But that’s what Monday is; a transition. Poor Monday, where did your fun go.


This is a break I’m taking while working on my novella. I still don’t know whether I’m going to Norway. I wish they would tell me something. Would be good to know where I’ll be. How to approach the future and everything. But then, I can sit on a stone for the end and with the sky all burning. Like those crabs being really pissed that I didn’t take that trip through the black hole because Marcel didn’t think it would be prudent of me. Someone should stay behind he said before he leaped into the nothing and was gone forever. I never saw him again. Never while sitting on those stones with the waves lapping and the salty air. It was thick on my tongue and pores were porous, sitting in sweat and a damp film all over my face. The flies the last things left that fly and the shuffling sounds in the sand while my toes are half curled in the stuff and I cuff my sleeves to my elbows. The last story was about the discovery of ice. I paid homage to it and wondered what it would be if the oceans all froze. I large skating rink. There weren’t any pretty girls there to skate with. The sun was red and I just kept staring at the waves.


I was lying on my couch earlier just stretching and looking at my Woodworks piece of art. Wondering if I’d ever have a place to properly hang it. I received two phone calls. Both pleasant. I wanted to suck on a lime and drink a beer but I had neither. And food didn’t really appetize me. I had a hunger but it lapsed and now I lapse here. This is diversion.

I thought about removing all the shelves and leaving a couch, a television, and a series of screens and computer with them all on the ground, wires strung up holding dust and marionettes would cling for life from a ceiling with paints scattered. With the gardens of Babylon from the top and top tiered structures in my loft that felt the different changes of light throughout the day. And a beautiful reflecting pool in the entrance.

One thing I miss dearly was the beautiful symmetry of my old house’s front entrance. I realized a thing that always catches me to depress my mood is the entrance of the homes that are here, that I live in. That don’t hold the same beautiful stain glass hummingbirds and the wonderful sandstone. Where when I was a child I would curl up on the couch and watch in the summertime with all the large windows open and the warm air lazily following the movements of my father’s broom as he sealed the stone floor and let the whole masterpiece dry before it was a remarkable thing to the desert. Where we had brought nature to live with us and she was a wonderful guest. Full of secret and warmth and the place was always happy and never boring.

The great sky full of stars. Where did you go stars? I’m asking because I dearly want to know. And how I would line the floor with books and paper and the scratching of my pens while sawdust came in from the back porch and the great knowing arches that graced our ceiling with hanging lanterns and a kitchen the size of my entire downstairs now.


There is a great capacity to miss so much, so dearly.

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