Clouded gatherings / Freezing stillness / In the dark abyss of my mind / Entwined brain of spindling images / Swirling neurons / Stuck synapse, strange synapse / Tick, tick, click / Free me / Give release / Militant bombing / Let screaming cease / Voices cold and edgy ring / In the dark abyss of my mind

The last couple days have been on the upswing and for that I am grateful. If I indulge myself in books, I find I am able to completely escape my own life for hours. It's all very well.

I've been writing a lot of bullshit poetry lately. It makes sense, really, considering I've felt so alienated and fragmented when it comes to writing recently. All I can do is blurt out random words on my mind and call it a poem. It's sad, really. In fact, I wrote a poem about poetry at work that same day too.

Poetry is brain / It's a scowling face / Eyes of concentration / Ink scratched quickly on scrap pieces of paper / Messy illegibility / But all soul / Always soul / The words never said / Never uttered from chapped lips to another / Never cried or choked or screamed in fury / Every metaphor your mind can invent / Every spark from the ashes / That lives to rise high enough / Out of the smoke / And through ink on scrap pieces of paper / Complexity.

Half my face is frozen right now from the 3 fillings I just got at the dentist. Lovely.

I haven't seen Cody since Saturday and I've only talked to him once on ICQ since then, and it was all fine. It's amazing how I improve greatly when I don't see him or talk to him. Go figure. I miss him, but at least I don't feel tortured. It's a Let's Pretend Cody Just Doesn't Exist game.

I am reading "The Poisonwood Bible" by Barbara Kingsolver. It's a great book. I think I will read more of it right now, actually. I need to escape to the Congo.

Mbote!

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