sometimes i remember old words...

"Who has never killed an hour? Not casually or without thought, but carefully: a premeditated murder of minutes. The violence comes from a combination of giving up, not caring, and a resignation that getting past it is all you can hope to accomplish. So you kill the hour. You do not work, you do not read, you do not daydream. If you sleep it is not because you need to sleep. And when at last it is over, there is no evidence: no weapon, no blood, and no body. The only clue might be the shadows beneath your eyes or a terribly this line neat the corner of your mouth indication that something has been suffered, that in the privacy of your life you have lost something and the loss is too empty to share." ~Mark Z. Danielewski

I want blank pages and pens, space enough to just let it all go -- to
transcribe some history of these days, I fear, as usual, that words
won't suffice and that a lack of expression will result in blankness.
There is potential for waste, breaking and color. Yet a clouded
existence prevents action.

I'd take it all back if I could, rewrite spoken history transferred on
wires on far away roads, pacific waters drenching my thoughts, my
seams. There's a waxing moon in Brooklyn, fall is here - rooftop views
are clear and full of stars. I'll take it.

I like when I wake up with a cold nose.