It moves slowly, dreamlike. Walk in a triangle through and around a small park, just a patch of grass with a few bench seats scattered through it. Lunch and a phone call. A leisurely coffee. I can’t quite shake the pall, though. I can’t, apparently, do anything else but wait. Time flows but it’s flowing away from me, out of my hands, in a slow and steady spiral. »
it’s time to end this endless headache i don’t have to contribute to such inelegance. »
I can walk that distance. No problem. But this time, let’s keep going. »
words won’t save you tiny hands won’t hold you we’re stuck in the nightmares of impotent, suited men the bad kind of darkness rages about us they’re trying to extinguish our candle but i survived before and i’ll survive again you fucker »
There’s a balance to all this – I’m sure of it, I tell myself. A crane’s all lit up in the distance. Wires cross the sky above me. Cars pass below, but they don’t know what’s in me. Two words from another language reminds me I should keep going. Onward and upward, and all that. The impetus is growing. Like the Mark Eitzel song, I’m gonna move myself ahead / but I don’t know how. »