evening down in back
Between these evening sessions looking for her, I went out to the bridge for the first time in years. The 'acoustic anomaly' is still there -- and nowhere else. I can't find any mention of it online, haven't heard anyone talk about it. Not that I would.
Standing there at a little after one, I couldn't see any pedestrians in either direction. Nor did I pass any, coming or going.
I heard around a dozen cars this time and saw most of them by their headlights, about two seconds before. I heard a few stereos, but couldn't make out any songs.
windowless – thirteen
you know
do you weigh the love with clothes?
I can’t force her to show herself. I’ve tried nothing else for weeks.
One last evening. Wish me well and check the mail.
subsilver
“Face down, crybaby. The back keeps them flat.”
“Wow,” I said, “art supplies are sexier than I thought.”
dummies are scored
After the snap rave session, without thinking twice about what was happening, I began writing something which I’ve not only tried, and failed, to put on paper several times in the past few years, but have also repeatedly failed to document and describe in journal entries: postscript. A name which I never grasped until that night.
The product was easily the most coherent and effective effort thus far, to orient myself and my perspective such that adapting the transcription afterward was almost effortless. There was no remainder to puzzle or panic over, no irreconcilable piece – not a word. I saw the method itself, its first volume completed and waiting in comprehensive manuscript. Of the remaining volumes, I could discern no detail; only the impression of the second, and the ghostly notions of the others. It was enough.
So.
virilent
She called me “little boy“ one morning and I have never let that go.
Pettiness, vindictiveness, resentment; no resource is beneath exploitation. This one, though, went somewhat deeper than I expected. Less of a mining job than a coring. In a space like that, you could build just about anything you can imagine. In the end, there was room enough for a room.
I never needed to see her, inside. But, just before it was sealed, I did. Not necessary, and not for nothing; since the first greenshift, I had been increasingly anxious that seeing her face – or not, one or the other – might cause me to be more, or less, cripplingly afraid of her during what’s to come. So I looked. Of course, I’ll never know whether that look left me better off, or worse, than if I hadn’t.