2002-03-04 || 1:16 p.m.

|| i'm gonna go bite my pillow, that's what i'm gonna do. ||

i always fall for it. like tripping on the same patch of sidewalk over and over, right there in front of the laundromat, right there with a reluctant audience. you say something (although in actuality it was never said, just written. i process words with your voice, i like to think because i know you so well, down to the sound waves and ear drum vibrations) and with those words there is a scene, like a super 8 movie projection, of you and the way your face must look saying it. and there's not much i can do. they're just words, and they don't say much of anything (it's the spaces between. negative space. inferring quite liberally perhaps.) but.

i don't know what it is today. at 10:47 this morning the neurotransmitters decided to play an awful trick. and maybe the lady hormones are laughin it up too, flipping power switches on and off (can you hear that sound? the clicking and whining of power surges?) and throwing quite a party, but. everything is dire straits and funeral processions over here. sinking ships and tv movie tragedies.

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