The Bad Days Will End.Contact.

Citta Violenta.



























 
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Toward a radical middle



























a time for fear
 
Tuesday, September 02, 2003  
I take none of it back, but I wish I hadn't said it, that's all. There's no point in erasing it: it's there now, for better or worse, probably worse, but perhaps better, if I'm lucky, if standards are really that low. I went crazy like Galvatron. I lost it. All burning ends in embers and extinction, so remain ice-cold, ice-cold...like Soundwave. Curse that upsurge, that swell. Curse the fresh air, the dewfall, the raindrops. Dumb soul...ice cold! No, because letting go like that just wastes words, drains the image and the view. You say too much: this is not a story after all. Well, you know, you can only face the sea alone. You'd stay silent for sure, right? Stare down the tide. Denuded. Stripped. Eroded. I literally wrote with fear in my eye: mistake. Wrote courage rather than keeping it. I went into the waves, 2ft shore break, not big, but a hard break on the steep sand. Struck head against centrifugal force, circular energy. Mild grey sea beneath an expanse of grey cloud: well, we swam anyway, and the colours came out for us. Curse this sickness, this sentiment, my pencil marks, my scrawl. At least this: I feel healthy at last. I lost it, you get it? There is this and there is that. There is bric and there is brac. There is hook, line and sinker. What entertainment. You dumb enigma. What an erosion, what an endpoint! My holiday...it was bracing.

people are seeing strange birds everywhere...

11:35 PM

 
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