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Shouldering the blues while leaning into the naked nape of the moon while the humid culture and symphony of insects play off the vapors of August evening, I get beached on the abandon. A bare bulb is sitting dull-eyed and placid, disinterested in the unappealing vision of all that it lights. �One shocking summer!� at our box office erupts. A piece of toilet paper wipes up the ass of our political consternation and the last place you�d think to go for a burger suddenly becomes a viable consideration. As I noise about and raise the pen, the magazine sticks to the long of my arm, a car stutters, and my brain lays a memory backfire. While my eyes revolve over the middle, (that is my current discontent), where all the garbage has settled, my shoes untied, my mouth dull and pasty, I discover I just want now and then some real sleep. Tomorrow makes now when today isn�t responsible. For all I know, there wasn't another car knocking about the freeway today, no one went to work, hit drive thru, got happy, go sad, got laid or anything else that could have constituted a moment or instant to mark the day. I just didn't know, just watched my shoes and elsewhere. How do you make it through the day? What is the lie and the sham, the aspiration and the dream, the truth or your soul or the ugliest thing you could lay on someone and hope that you bet right on thinking that they'd know just how much it meant to be able to speak it much less be able to relate. When's the last time someone knew something personal about you and they could appreciate it because it was simply about you, it smelled like a color and couldn't be seperated from you and was loved for belonging so? Everyday I just make it by with things that seem so small . Whatever patch of ground or sky my eyes might take in, it's the most I can hope for to make it real and seperate it from all the fiction that trades like common currency...
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