10 : 22

5:41

The weather is colder and I do not mind November and winter and the birthday of my lover because there are birds despite the snow. This month I have understood the words I do have because we have sat alone together at dinner, staring at each other across a candle while the beginning-imagination of January (which shows itself as shaved ice in the rain) moved against the kitchen windows. It was not like having a meal with myself (rather something that I did not want to see) but I watched the words because I like the dark and want to speak to all of the things I should never be attracted to. 

The morning is moving too quickly and I want time with my poor mind that is exhausted, stretching and contracting, and I should have more thoughts than what kind of flesh is the brain made of but I have those words and they are honest, a different weight of truth, which is like the heaviness behind a conversation. 

5:32

Autumn is too bright, the sky too blue because all things like to shine brighter to compensate for death and why should earth -- who is the beginning of our own life -- be any different, or rather, why should we (whatever we are) be dissimilar.

I do not know if I like exuberance that was born to counterbalance monochromatic animation -- the genuine has always satisfied whatever is left of my soul. I do not eat with my words often enough so they become fingers on plastic, bones and joints in flesh, cold from the jejune autumn. 

I have no intention of being cruel to the seasons but the falling leaves are nature's clock and does Persephone remember her rape as time passes? 

I want to know why the walls of the subway are not stained with ancient Greek murals, why artists do not write lines from the Book of the Dead on STOP signs, why recreations of Egyptian prayers on papyrus are not pasted on shop windows, next to wanted ads. 



I am allowed to rest even if I dream of a different structure to my own body, nervous to see my face when I wake in the morning. I hear the wind blowing and the young girl picking flowers near a cleft in the soil is about to scream. I will cover my eyes when all of the plants die.