and yet we do not know if we've progressed at all,
we cannot tell.
we look in the mirror and we say
how long has it been since i have felt this small?

I think I just gave up.

Oh the breeze of relief. I think I might just give up on everything. Let the winds take over.

Trade winds. Itch to sea. Itch to sea.

No children for me. My father just showed me some Zachman system of infomation management. It said shit like work=deliverable. Node=major business location. Time=when. It mighta wella said 2+2=5. It's proof: no future, no future, no future. Australia's most massive tree was burned hollow. It is dead, it is dead. A great big wooden bell, its own un-rung death knell.

Ran into Tessa yesterday at the bus stop. She said she hoped I was still doing my writing - surprised, didn't know she;d read any. Saw Jan today at bus stop. Disturbed me.

Did my Ancient talk today. Nice to have it over with. It went OK. But that essay now. And god, I'm obsessed.

I wish I really could give up. I never will. I'll be back tomorrow, back in traction, towing the line. No. I never had any traction. I'm just pretending. Like a vague smile on the lips, politeness. Polite to the world with its requirements. Deferent bow. No real desires. Unfulfilled by default. Leave it to others.

i feel as if i were really there
under that tree
with all that blowing loose hair
(book cover)(monitor).

monitor. what is with that word. imagine: the monitor is monitoring you.

Work = deliverable.
2+2=5
(Orwellian in its beauty).

Wireless wild wind.
Dis/traction. Dis traction. I'm going out, I'm taking the car, I'm driving to distraction.

Imagine if when you fell in love... DEE DEE DEE DAA DAA DAA ... our wires crossed.

she was spinning/she was spinning/like rumpelstiltskin.

i signed in, resigned
i wrote down my times
oh i'm tired
oh if only there were time.
if only there were a world out there
ships weaving over
ships made of real wood,
real salt and water.

Oh do not be perplexed by me
no no - i just exist remarkably
flickering in a narrow eye of light
dazzling the slackening candles which slump down at my feet.
oh i am an aureole, an oriole
i'm so aural, aerial, what an aura!
other people call in hopes i'll tell them how to pray.
But you don't have to pray to me:
with a mirror and a lamp
i'll genuflect before myself,
veil my own eyes: protection
from my false idolatry.