2002-07-13 || 4:28 p.m.

|| more magic carpets. and my dad's shoes. ||

i have that feeling again of flying high, scraping my knuckles on the corroded tops of brick chimneys. not being able to stop. not being able to turn counterclockwise enough times to combat the incessant dizziness (clockwise + counterclockwise = stasis, somehow? or dizzy in both directions?).

unable to complete sentences. unable to remember the date.

today on the phone with dad trying to pin down the spires and forgotten jean jackets i've been flying over lately, he said he's healthy. his carotids are slick and trusty. thinking of his arteries, his internal organs, the tick-tock machinery that makes up my father, i got choked up and quickly changed the subject to van's tennis shoes (the only shoes dad wears. navy blue. size 14.).

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