4:22 p.m. - 2003-12-23
random condoms filled with rain were bursting on the pavement
the countryside and passing scenery of trees and derelict houses,
there was an old man smoking at the doorway of a wooden hut.
it rained for a few hours and left us like inebriated goldfish opening and closing our mouths
steam clouds rose from the hood.
inside, we were laughing and lighting cigarettes
we passed stories around, making up grandiose intros like the one time in our life we have never felt like that before and it was like being reborn: changing underwear,
and subsided into drab ordinary speak about nothing in particular, especially the movies we have watched recently.
listening to the radio speaking silently in our heads there is no speech.
the tires they screech.
and suddenly we have crossed the border.
into another state.
we cheer
if we haven't cheered earlier.
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we crawled 15 miles yesterday to get to the river. the fish were already dead. nevertheless we plunged in. we cried for joy and splashed water about us, each one slowly sinking into the bottom, and never coming up. we are crocodiles and we never knew what our tears meant.
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i rode on the bus and saw someone on tv.
i walked into the toilet and came upon a scene.
the lighting was above and the tiles were below.
she was an actress and she smiled truthfully.
the audience were in their seats and they thought if a smile is self-conscious when its alone.
the performance was light-hearted and in the end
every one clapped.
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the personal walkman is a good instrument for breathing rarefied air.
