everything seems to hunkydory, mostly. except when that blessed sleep is interrupted by that horrifying. wilt the chamberlain, or watch that waterbearer squirm, spill his daisies all about the place, watching slow words ooze between his lips. how’s that for ineffectuality?
nattering nabobs? no, nothing like that. it’s far more personal. than. that.
suddenly, in spite of those shivering ideas, that old fear comes creaking around the heart. wheeeeeze, and feel that old steam engine glowing white hot. those fingernails aren’t icey, o no. all the pretty glass, that sparkled in the shimmertime, seems like so much pretty glass. worth new jersey, maybe, but not much moren that.
all the fingers and toes and arms and legs and whatnot seem so useless in the face of that unnameable pain. where’s it at? there’s not even a name right now for what that was… head, shoulders, knees and toes? bah!
but at least i have a new mop.
oh the creaking dark; sometimes I only don’t connect on whatever level I’m not connecting on but still feel some deep right-to-right connectorial that just wonders me at the what of it all. changing seasons still shift me this and that a way, but soon i hope to have settled, just in time for the next shift, this time to the cold stuff falling down.
colored glass? things you bought? things you didn’t? we’ve got colored glass all over this here, the wife loves it, but again if we’re talking at cross porpoises I’m only so humane. Sometimes I have a post-buying depression that knocks my knees off my legs, but not for a long while, and not that I know that’s what you’re on about. Just reminded me. On our vacation in Florida we found a store with such pricingly artglass that we wobbled in our shoes and fell on our asses, but didn’t break anything, we bucking bronchial tubes in a sinewave shoppe.
OK. Is time for sleep if it’ll have me
[leftbraintranslation]
so, i’m writing about how things can seem to be going so well, and then everything can go so wrong in an instant. like, when you’re sleeping next to someone and they wake up in a lot of agony. so much that they can’t even speak to you. and how terrifying that is.
and by pretty glass, i’m mostly talking about how fascinated i am by all the neat ideas which swim my way; the books, websites and ideas which fill my brain all the time. and how worthless they seem in a different light. the light being: is something really terrible happening right now? (the new jersey thing being how much some indians got paid for it, or maybe that’s long island)
and i did actually buy a new mop yesterday. leopard print.
turns out everything’s fine now. though it was a bit scary there.
and maybe now it doesn’t seem so interesting as it did…
[leftbraintranslation]
some things go bump in the night