are out there.
buddhism ? # =
poets ? # =
10 Jan 2003 / 6:01 p.m.
.: at the canal, following the monolith.
strange nights recently. i've been preoccupied, and not-writing. here is the remedy:
i am walking, listening to trans-am's futureworld. i am pointed at an old microwave tower on top of the old Ma Bell building. i walk until i hit a low ditch that runs parallel to 29 road. i stand in the frozen mud for a while, and then walk south along the cut, counting styrofoam and plastic bits. the debris becomes bigger as i move towards the trainyard and industrial parks, and the banks are scarred from backhoe teeth. i sit on the grand street bridge for a while, watching the blinking red eyes on the tower. the corrugated aluminum shelters glitter in the darkness, reflecting the red light down on backlit business signs. the signs were cryptic acronyms: c for consolidated, m for manufacturing, e for elemental. the industrial alphabet shines like rubypink lips on coldpress kabuki makeup; the snowclouds overhead are a mirror.
i move west toward home, analog synth waves carry me over the grid.
i pick up david, a drunk, a cementlayer, near a bar. he needs a ride home. i give him one. 6 times he tells me that he isn't into kinky stuff. i tell him that's ok, because i am not into kinky stuff with him. he stumbles inside, muttering about how hard he is going to fuck his wife. i decide to go to jilberto's for a green chile burrito.
i am home, i eat the burrito, i reformat my harddrive, i reinstall windows. i go to bed. sometime around 6am the cat wakes me up. she is lonesome or cold. i let her curl up by my head and sleep.
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