Winter molar

I sometimes return to my own blog with the feeling of wonder you get when opening a dusty box in the back of the closet.

No, it's like - a molar in the back of my mouth, that I'm totally unaware of and only my dentist reminds me to take care of it.

No, it's like - a handful of crumpled shopping lists in the pocket of a winter coat. My blog posts are like shopping lists to me.

I see myself under water, blue and twisted, sucked into the mud, soiled and wounded and with my eyes I follow my corpse as it swells and breaks free, floats to the surface. It gets stuck on the hull of a boat, that drags it along over mud and rocks.

Reiteration.

I've been in absolute darkness for the last fourteen days. My eyes are not healing well. I'm so alone it's maddening. Today, I got op with a aching pressure above my sick eye and my head is heavy from lack of sleep. Now that I've moved myself, like everyday, to my dark study, I can feel through the double curtains that it's cold, wet and dreary outside. The wind is tugging at the shutters and blows a melancholy tune down my chimney. With every gust of wind, the rain clatters against the windows.
I try to evoke some of the cheerfulness that I lack, in my cat, and lure her with a peace of string; but she retreats to her warm basket near the radiator. She's cold and sad like I am.

It's not a sexual thing

I'm into girls lately. This morning, as I was on my bike to work, I noticed this woman riding in front of me. It's a very hot summer, she was dressed lightly, in a skirt of some metallic fabric, and a tight red top. She had big boobies, that fascinated me, because of their calm, majestic sway, going from left to right as she rode her bike. I can easily understand why men are so mollified by boobs. The sight of them was just plain beautiful. Even though I never got to see her face, I loved her instantly. It's not a sexual thing. I'm just really into girls lately.

Lost & Found

I lost my voice, but now I've got it back. My shoes wore thin, but I learned to walk barefoot. My brain was hanging upside down. I know the mortar in the wall breaks.

I gave up on photography though. I am not cut out to be a street photographer. I'm just too shy. That, or I need to buy a large obtrusive camera to hide behind. All I really need is a cigarette.

Regular Expressions

One of the more comical aspects of love is that you love all your lovers in the same manner. You use the same tender or shameless little phrases with them. Observed with a little amount of detachment, this can be a secret joy.

Oeuvres Romanesques

This guy walked up to me today, carrying four segments of different 17th century maps. Photocopies. He wanted to know if I could make them look like old photographs. Not old maps, but old photographs of maps, mind you. He wanted them back in about an hour. I looked at the maps and noticed this triangle of barren land, no houses on them, getting gradually more developed over time, on the progressive fragments of the maps he'd given me.