Sunday, February 22, 2009

in the rain steam of the palatable mainstream


Some of the mainstream information out there is quite corrupted.


It's a pain in the ass to think this way. Especially in a cold room on a day where people walk past doors billowing smoke with the easy talk of rain on their foreign tongues.

pioggia, pluie, lluvia, regen

"You look tired" says the girl at the coffee shop downstairs.

And I decide, for the millionth time, that I will never tell anyone they look tired or say that I'm tired for the sake of something to say; that everyone must be tired in one way or another, about something; whereby mentioning it-seems most redundant.

"I'm beat," I say.

stanco, fatigué, cansado, vermoeid
......

Waking up today in a warm pile of myself, I think: What's the point? and try to disappear again into a land of subconscious lotteries: an amalgamation of childhood homes and pets and playmates. Fears. Desires. Winding sidewalks-endless, the dark eyes on aisle 6, a red umbrella.


ombrello, parapluie, paraguas, paraplu

I reach for book and disappear into words, abstract images within the spectrum of 26 letters, symbols, dots and spaces--made into sanctions, history, signs, scripture, psalms, fables, subtitles; songs about milkshakes and yards, and being independent.

indipendente, indépendant, independiente, onafhankelijk

The temperature drops by decades, by leagues of thousands when the same slow song is played on rote and there is anxiety that the people next door might catch the wind of its anthem, in what it represents, as the voice of familiar company.

azienda, compagnie, compañía, bedrijf

I'm not going to say I'm tired right now, but there's probably a more than better chance I am, whether I'd like to admit it, or not.

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