I am not watching as much news, now.

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THere are yellow dashes in the middle of the road. They are approximately two or three feet long, and maybe there are one or two feet of blank asphalt between dashes. The dashes mean that it is okay to pass slow traffic in your lane by swerving into the oncoming lane and going on by. There is a stretch of road on route #19, south of Palatka and it goes “dash – dash – dash – dash – dash – dash – dash – dash – dash” and then allofasudden the pattern explodes in a massive failure of intentional paint, a spilt bucket and all of its evidences, the colour yellow all over the southbound lane, unabashed.

I don’t know what that means.

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I went into Orlando on Sunday. I bought records and talked about rock and roll with the shopkeepers. And i saw Tom who was no longer in Hamilton, and i saw Peter and Lourdes. They seemed happy to see me, and before that i had driven through my old neighborhood and past my apartment with the shoddy fence door, and it moved nothing inside my blood and guts.

Now it’s been a long time.

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I was going to buy a paint. It is a special paint, applied to fingernails like nail polish, and then you bite the fingernails and wretch from the flavour. But then i remembered that i rip fingernails with other fingernails, and the teeth are only coming into the picture to trim the carnage. To wrap fossils in burlap and plaster and send them to laboratories far away, to be analyzed by the experts.

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On Sunday night i was heading north, back to Palatka, and the moon was unbelievably large and orange. It sounded like a ghost saw, nestled into the knees of shackled divinities. All of the lights glowed in a most twinkled spirit. Enough to make a body want a home.

There was a ex hale in the at mo sphere.

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I am on an assignment and it has been almost a month. I have not remembered myself or what i am up to. Not for a long time, now. I have a life when i am home but i do not do a great job at considering it. Everything has felt awfully impersonal, from myself to myself. It is a strange feeling. There is a portion of my head that’s no longer willing to be involved in the rest of it, and i guess that has never happened before. I like to sleep and i like to drink, and i still like to listen to the music.

I got a text message today that said “It’s snowing!” but it did not feel like deja vu, or winter either.

It would normally feel very grey, but i am not in the habit of considering it.

I have been eating a lot of fruit and drinking lots of tea. I am full of antioxidants and i am a project manager. I have fallen out of the habit of writing and i expect the trend to continue, and intensify. It is a relief and a mercy, even more than it ought to be. I feel weary lately but i like to go backpacking. I would like to find a mountain to sit on where everything is even quieter than it is right now. That is all that there is about me.

Sleep is cyclic and it will try to get you every night, usually.

Stars above Shenandoah, 18 October

Originally uploaded by amnesoid

refracted, palatka fl 7th november 2008

this week was a good week, not as much for myself or anyone that i happen to know, but i have a genuine scope and breadth of thought that is profoundly content with the political output gifted by several million citizens of a certain united states of america, on tuesday. they elected a black man with a islamic name and so did i. i have been guilty of thinking that i have very little in common with my fellow citizens, and maybe i am right or wrong.

although, now reality strikes, and we wonder if presidency is a terrible burden to be shouldered by such a talented and inspiring human being.

maybe it is one of those “now that you feel it, you don’t”. but i hope not.

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i would knot strings to all of my fingers, and spark a remembering of reasons, in strings too.

last winter was supreme discontent, the spring was escape and toil, the summer was five thousand miles with two duffel bags, and then there was autumn. autumn was a house that i like, and no complaints. but then i might as well have been staring between the molecules of the ceiling, a line of sight with the most miniscule of gravitational waverings, past this nucleus and then another.

the entirety of my head has gone silent, and made no movement for the need to hear itself collapse or exfoliate. i guess we are all just profoundly tired. i am vowing to sleep more, participate less, and then even less. i inadvertently hone a skill for failing to remember to return phonecalls and emails and communications of viable import.

i think of a photon hitting the edge of the universe and then appearing on the other side. unscathed through malingering formulas.

i become ashamed to write that the heart shrinks, then gets big, then shrinks again.