A Black Feather, A poison pen... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- cast a frightful spell listening to the nearly silent cyclical rhythms of the night. the stop-start of the refrigerator the oscillating, almost subliminal sound that the TV and the Monitor make (I am trying to backdoor my way into the free computer someone gave me - the drivers have all been blanked and i can't get it to install that which is called windows) I am surprised that the usual nuisance noises from my neighbor to my immediate west are not going on right now. The clattering of scrap metal and the chatter of faintly heard conversations amid the cacophony. I had forgotten about the counter-spells... I am taking heat from within the family, or will be shortly. I really should kill Damian. If he hadn't thought it was such a great fucking idea to give the goddamn trailer-park-sorceress my spare house key, she wouldn't have stolen any of my books and she wouldn't have gotten in to leave that shit written on the walls of what had been his room while he was staying there. My neice waits five years to bring it up that she was never able to get some symbols and markings off of the wall, but then knowing the degree of effort that she had put into the more pressing matters that there were, unless the shit in the room was done in enamel paints, magic marker or blood, i can't see why it should have been so hard. i was working some cruel little spell, but all of the facets of that little working were of the epemeral variety, things drawn in dust and ashes so that i could wipe it all away after nine days. Anything else on those walls was not my doing. i hope she went on some variant of Dead tour like she did before Garcia croaked, and if she did, i hope she's lost count of the number of times she's gotten lice, quite frankly. 12:18 a.m. - 2003-04-12 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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