I'm sitting at my window.. watching the snow come down, at 02:30.. thedeep night, me, and the glass. Wally occasionally looks up, and wonderswhy I'm not resting with him on my beanbag.. I've recently taken to sleepingwith the shades open, in my front room.. I like waking to the sun.. and
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Some kinds of music are really bad to play late at night... They easily putme in a sorrowful or reflective mood, and those really are things that arn'tso good for when noone is around and the sun is down. It's hard to rememberthat I've given up on some things when parts of me keep being ambivalent onif they wish to integrate into the whole or not. Hard to paint a coherentstory when the corpus colossum is severed.. and the nightmares.. ordisturbing dreams.. they've been at me recently. I wish I could forget them,but they return, and sometimes touch my waking hours. An hour over abathtub, an hour in the park, an hour in the tall, open place. I turn myhead, stepping outside myself for a moment, and watch you walk by the longwindow. Is this the soft place? Was there ever such a place? The faint tasteof lemon on upholstry.. tongue runs over plastic, rubbery, leathery furniture.Here, the rules are softer, judgement is harder, but suspended.
I summon your spectre, no, not a meaningless embrace... Keep me companythis night.