consortium of bogus genuflectors.
March 13, 2011 § Leave a comment
My bra is on inside out.
I came home at 4:30 this morning: delirious with morning driving. Saw Mill Closed. Detour to the Sprain through the one-road-vein from Ardsley to Yonkers: Jackson Ave. The flooding is the sweetest makers of traffic. Ducks in temporary ponds coast about with impatient buttfeathers, the double yellow under their webbing.
Supine in bed at long last, I curled my sheets like some high thread-count security. Fluid expression of fabric, restless brain misfiring.
One chirp and the sun was rising. Earplugs were rummaged from my bedside inventory and glommed into my canals. Fluffed out hyper orange noise cloggers that come in a plastic globe of 50 mates.
I sweltered into sleep long after the expiry of thoughts. For awhile, I was brainlessly riding the awake state of holding my eyelids shut: something that took all of my brainpower to do. The stimulation of light and books as well as my red possessions and buttercream walls, defaulted my rest state. My mascara thickened lashes glued together and caged the menaces into the default pink of membrane.
The day had the lit blur of something being smashed in slow motion. I walked through the wind tilted island and the Sound circled around me like I was the circumcenter.
Beyond details of various states of dress and seltzer consumption—- the day consisted of the confusing stagnation that happens when you read too much and look up—-expecting to be somewhere else because of all your mental progress.
I don’t have enough energy to get drunk downtown tonight.
Harvey Milk is playing tomorrow at Union Pool and I plan to enter that black hole fearless of coming out incomplete- or with parts strewn about, linked by DNA only.
(Right now a seagull is being slaughtered at midnight outside of my window. This is so uncommon that it is unnerving. Are there large animals of prey who take down seagulls at midnight?)