mason jar of tears
nothing is wrong. everything is wrong.6.09.2006
Part 4.
She hears the rapid punch of pinking shears coming from behind. Trees blur and the cars on the highway stand still. This is not the right train and dust is collecting, forever and ever on a box on a shelf in a burned down house.
She debarks and walks quickly through the maze of commuters with her elbows locked for impact with any moving target in line with her mean trajectory. "Do I have a conscience? Am I dreaming”?
She hears the rapid punch of pinking shears coming from behind. Trees blur and the cars on the highway stand still. This is not the right train and dust is collecting, forever and ever on a box on a shelf in a burned down house.
She debarks and walks quickly through the maze of commuters with her elbows locked for impact with any moving target in line with her mean trajectory. "Do I have a conscience? Am I dreaming”?
5.19.2006
Part 3.
Dirty blonde clusters of what didn't make it to the wastebasket or her t-shirt covered the bathroom sink and floor. She paused before cleaning the mess to ask herself for the ninth time that day, "am I dreaming?"
Dirty blonde clusters of what didn't make it to the wastebasket or her t-shirt covered the bathroom sink and floor. She paused before cleaning the mess to ask herself for the ninth time that day, "am I dreaming?"
Part 2.
Suddenly she remembered where it was she kept her true soul.
It was inside a shoebox on a shelf inside a dream of her old room
in the old house, her parents' house that burned down.
Part 1.
Left alone on a rainy day with scissors, she cut her
hair.
5.01.2006
I started this blog in 2003 and promply forgot about it. Pithy title don't you think. A little sad. I must have been really depressed.
3.28.2003
lovely. another exercise in narcissistic blather.
