Friday, July 21

it's too hot at home so i've come here to keep cool.
my desk is up a mountain and the red wine does not help.
there are colourful birds and pictures of my friends wearing too much eyeliner.
the smell of dark chocolate (the bar that melted into a funny shape in the post) is on the desk mountain and is making me feel s.i.c.k.
photographs of snow and a miniscule kate bush and white chalk and belts and batteries...all giving me grief.
i need more; space, time, wine.
this room is full and there is no corner for me.
a box of fake snow, plans drawn in fat pen, unsent unscented letters, white gloves, yellow shoes, a racing bike, a wall with an unfinished...
the printer is cranky and the pot poodles have slipped into comas.

today is yr birthday.
let's smoke cigars.


croweau said...

when I cannot muster the muscle to write you write for me.

it is too much, sbj, too too much and I am sometimes only in ice

and yet still can love, love this journal, love

hell said...

i love the way you think it and write it

more wine more cigars