a fake wind blows in a steady, oscillatory rhythm, and my eyes are punished. I'm crying unemotional tears, from sleeplessness, from slight allergies induced by the upcoming season, and only one eye possesses such soulful resolve. It's early, but my body feels late, despite the time change in the other direction. Circadian rhythm out of whack, my mental state is revolving on a hypnotic hampster-wheel, and with every revolution my eyes are drooping, my faculties are fraying towards sleep - what time is it? not even late? one of those nights, huh?
I received my first drawing battle-wound today. I got a little enthusiastic about erasing (I probably do more erasing than drawing - that's probably telling about my current calibre of artistry), and paper-cut a good chunk of the unnamed finger away. It's okay... I didn't need that one. Other than that, I mostly rested from the long drive, the wedding-weekend, the several visits to radioshack trying to get everything collected for work.
I started reading the Brother's K; I finished Simic's Walking the Black Cat; I regretted leaving my guitar in Oregon; I browsed the internet absently for too long (twitter is the new bane of my existence); and I ate more chips and salsa than dinner. That's my day. And family.
Night swoops in on hawk talons
and distantly a creek trickles
through the fairy woods,
or frogs croak with the day,
or wind scuffles by
like a jazz-drag-shuffle
tipping hat at the empty trees as though they,
like ballroom ladies standing 'round,
might agree to dance -
or maybe a solemn silence
drizzles down with the rain
as the plumage of clouds illuminated
in street lamps collects in soulful puddles
on the ground -
I don't know, did you stop
and look?
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