big wind rolling down from the north, bring me all the blankets in the house! i don't care if they're clean!

wiry black squirrel races me home, just for a bit. old man with a sign that says: jews, niggers, gays, desert, me. he looks like he's waiting for something, i don't know what.

come on rain, i know you're itching for it. just barrel down on me.

i only have room in myself for incomplete sentences. enough internal monologue for a postcard, that's all. nothing put in the mail though, not even just to say i got your letter. sorry.

mother and dad are in oregon, probably paddling around the river in their kayaks. the old dog is stuck at home, in the way that old dogs get stuck. i wonder if she thinks about young dog days or maybe just still believes she is a young dog.

not in a mood for public, not in a mood for soup, not in a mood for throw up twice and then shudder on the couch waiting to be able to think about anything else. not in a mood for summer, so i guess its fine that summer's just wrapped things up around here.

in a mood to to throw away all the nice odds and ends i keep around, pack a bare necessities suitcase (toothbrush, underwear, long knives, etc.) and go get a job or at least a better excuse. but none of that's an end in itself.


all smoke and no fire. psh.