Sunday, December 08, 2002
My Dreams Are Like Closework With God
~
I slept well, collapsing after too many Manhattans and other such arrogancies, having left the Brit Pop while the Ramones and the Smiths sounded better and better washed down with dilusion. I tumbled past whores and streetcorners stationed with drifting men in unfitting clothes -- their glares like envy or hatred or love.
Shuffling.
Along.
Home.
The wind last night was high; the treetops twitched and fettered under the weight of natures' gust. It was cold, but soft, not bitter, not biting, not defiant, just forcefully breezing it's way from city to city to town, across tracks and fields, barn-tops and the homes of the sleeping.
S*
2002.12.08
I slept well, collapsing after too many Manhattans and other such arrogancies, having left the Brit Pop while the Ramones and the Smiths sounded better and better washed down with dilusion. I tumbled past whores and streetcorners stationed with drifting men in unfitting clothes -- their glares like envy or hatred or love.
Shuffling.
Along.
Home.
The wind last night was high; the treetops twitched and fettered under the weight of natures' gust. It was cold, but soft, not bitter, not biting, not defiant, just forcefully breezing it's way from city to city to town, across tracks and fields, barn-tops and the homes of the sleeping.
S*
2002.12.08
