i'll let you know when i get there

Got out for awhile. Dragged myself out to a house full of drunk women repeating themselves and being generally awful.  Although I am not weeping alone about hypothetical children and a million other bodies, i'm not entirely sure which is the worse option.

in an instant in an hour a chasm of infinite depth opens between us and our voices grow quiet, silent, drowned by the enormity of the gulf and hundreds of undead voices (they do not stop) echoing up from the dark a dark with no bottom and all i hear are muffled voices and everything goes black and all i see is red and the dark of the depth consumes and surrounds and destroys who am i in this ?

watching a man wait for his dog to poop in a yard today almost broke me.  it was an overwhelmingly depressing experience.  there he was-- standing in drizzle, slumped shoulders, with a plastic bag already posed and ready on his hand.  palpable ennui.  and it really did just about push me over the edge. the futility of every single thing. maybe i'm just sad today, maybe it's the rain, but seriously-- it was almost too much for me to handle.

i'm either more motivated by an anonymous public audience (that is no longer reading) or i've been very busy someday i'll get back to the words i'll let you (who?  no one.  absolutely no one.) know when know when no one know one know no one when

history is written by photoshop

everyone high on their horses -experts everywhere- when the truth is control is an illusion on all levels, i think some people would probably crucify me for not voting today. i am not a responsible citizen.  not a true american.  i have no right to complain. ya ya ya one of man y man y many more like idol voting (call in for whoever you want it will cost the same) fanatic tomorrow we will wake up and drive to work hope for no accident on the freeway change the date on the calendar a new day "let's get this nation back on the right track" what track?  where are we going?  who are we, anyway? we doesn't feel related to me much at all bound and bent toward futility balloons will go up in some room or another confetti will fall down on some floor and some shoes and four years, like seasons, will follow. i am walking slow to the car filling up every single minute with hope of my own a we and a me and a small universe, drawn on m...

necessary.  slow. sometimes near impossible. i live in a house full of clocks that do not work, but i still look up at them from time to time as though they might be ready to talk.