thoreau

"go the fuck away," I muttered into the pillow.

4am on a cold Thursday morning, with rain spitting at the window. I can feel ghosts standing at the foot of my bed. One of them reeks of rainwater - another of cheap dutch masters cigars - another of rosewater and cherry avon lip balm.

they never say anything. they fill the room with the smell of history - and go on their way.

it used to startle me. it doesn't any longer. that smell. to smell snow burnt winter berries on my nightshirt in the morning.

to awaken suddenly to the sound of a cannonball in silver lake. a frolicking 11 year old boy.

no - it doesn't startle me any longer. I think it comforts them to watch me sleep.

“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.” - Oscar Wilde

I got that quote STUCK in my head all night and all day - and the above image and block of words are the result. I'm recording it because - well, I really liked how it read.

I get easily get lost in descriptions.

Like Miss Heels who always comes by my apartment - at 10:10pm and 7:30am. I get lost in a description of what is likely two different people. but in my notes - its Miss Heels. She walks quickly, almost stomping. Heels marking the pavement. She's determined to get somewhere, Miss Heels. determined.