I want to give credit where credit is do.  It ain't happening.  I'm a hack.  But I'm a better hack then most.

drops like
little beetles green and unknowing that
it don't matter

crushed like butterflies
this is your rain water
find a way around it

poisonous to
get clear impossible
stops of the locks
along a major river

could we be that mundane?
control everything
done and done
the water
done

ONCE AGAIN TO THROW IT ALL AWAY...

 Relativity is real.  In the same vein that time dilation is. 

 What little I live for, passes so quickly now. 

 But the things that kill me linger.  I've waited years and years to be destroyed by myself.

  As if the knife that I felt pushing between my ribs I slowed so that I could feel it for a moment longer.  In a sense I hindered it's advance but at the same time I didn't repel it to the point of survival.

  I flirt.  I'm due.

  It all comes to an impasse and the cosmos doesn't have time for jokers. 

  In reality that's all it has.

  Smile and nod.

Hard to keep the fire lit...

....Inside my brain I have this constant problem with sadness and self-deprecation. ...To keep the fire within lit, to keep creativity and desire a driving force I'm going to try again with this foolish blog, boring even myself in the process. ...But the feel of the keys moving forward have their own kind of salvation, a movement towards acting, something I've done little of for months now. I've forgotten how actually to spell many words, even their uses allude more than before. As with the softness of my bulbous stomach, I'm disintegrating into apathy of mind, body and spirit. ...to keep the fire lit... anything

Milk...

Apparently milk is made mostly of a slow-acting protein type called cassein.

When I was a child I was forced to drink a glass of milk every single night before going to sleep. Now when I drink milk late at night, sleep eludes me.

These days I drink vitamin D milk. Growing up it was lowfat (2%). In college it was nonfat. Once in a blue cow moon it's soy.

Today I didn't put any milk in my espresso. It's actually quite nice.

The Wooden White Skeleton

Today it faces me. Today it's ridged ribs, chalk white frame, bulbous skull, today the skeleton faces me. Usually it peers outward, out the window towards busy Stark St. and I can only catch its eye in the reflection of the glass. Today it's as though it signals to me, one arm frozen in upright salute or condemnation. I think the former. But now that I've noticed I can't ignore it.

The coffee sits in my throat...

I have these two couches.

One is a cool faux leather with a big back and a decent love-seat with plush armrests. Earlier today I sat and watched a man across the street drill into a 4 x 4, constructing.

My other couch dominates my room. At one time it was L-shaped. I know because it has that slant-back end where it would turn the corner and connect with the other piece. Somehow, even though it doesn't have it's missing piece, I still have all of its pillows. So many that they are stacked double high, creeping up my wall like a tan, billowy fungus.

As I sat on my couches today I felt alone. So much room to sit.

I feel like de/construction surrounds me...

There's a steamroller in the parking lot of my apartment complex. The coffee shop is roasting with a general shaking and tumble of din. Even Halfway House across the street blasted engine noise throughout the neighborhood with their gas lawn mower from some by-gone era. Is it my ears that are sensitive today or something deeper inside me?