A Black Feather, A poison pen... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- if i wax philosophical will i have a slippery mind until the traffic grits it up again just screaming busy here in the office lately, and as a result exhausted when i get home. sometimes as i read and interpret the things, the bits and pieces that pass acros my desk i feel like Jaffe in Clive Barker's The Great and Secret Show the little mundane tasks that pass this way take on lives of their own outside of these walls and outside of the innocuous paerwork which they inhabit interconnectedness forgive me if i don't make much sense, my head's all funny lately (but it's nothing bad, in fact it may be quite the opposite) and as a result i find myself waxing philosophical last night as i left the office a little on the late side i could not help but notice how brilliantly purple the sky was around the edges where the sun was setting just little things. i thought about trying to pay a visit to the hillside where i once watched a sunrise once, a long time ago, but, appropriately enough it has been blasted through and paved over, (i should have seen that coming since that night we were playing like little kids on the construction and quarrying equipment) hell, now that i think about it i may have even driven over it once or twice before all those tickets caught up with me i just hope the bats found a safe place to rest, there were some other nice foothills not too terribly far away in a spot where the terrain was considerably less friendly to the land-rapists, umm, did i say land-rapists? i mean the developers, no wait. i still wish i knew why or how we saw lightning on a cloudless night 5:14 p.m. - 2002-11-07 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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