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Sunday, 09 July 2006
S'avant.
The Avon lady, with her case of tiny lipsticks, lives in a transitive state. She goes from house to house.
I rarely open the door these days, but there is hardly ever a need to. Reams of paper flood the carpet in the dim hallway daily. The aftermath of the weekend's events continues, slowly, a stalker beyond a timeframe. These are echoes.
Today, hopefully, I'll witness something anthropological, the sourced within music. Ramifications of a desire to become more engaged, more belittled, more of a witness to extraordinary events leads my journey somewhere untold.
Finding the end is like finding the end.
14:02 Posted in Confessional | Permalink | Comments (0) | Email this