11:22 p.m. - 2003-12-26
about sleep and the burden of guns, damien jurado, the america i like, cancerless cigarettes.
sleepless for a few nights
chasing them shuteye around here like a harmonica brings me to that southern winter night where in the morning i can see dew on the blades of grass under the orange creeping light. i only remember another time like this and it is in thailand, out in the field with my army mates and guns. they were a burden those guns. we wrapped tape on the muzzles and kept them in our vehicles so they wouldnt collect dirt or rust. we are a peaceful lot preparing for war. we scramble to reproduce. we knew there is no god in the end. we believe otherwise. that is faith. we are proud. we make knowledge.
damien jurado i like him now. he is old home movies of america. he is the wide blue sky and the rolling road. he is kerouac. he is the bitter rolled cigarette crumpled but savoured. it tastes like coffee.
time is 1130pm. i have to sleep soon.
shut eye catching up on me. i am glad when my head hits the pillow and darkness is around and i feel contented.
blanket smothering happily.
ok, byebye.
