Saturday, January 28, 2006

I fell asleep, and when I woke back up the rains had returned, the outlines of the city only just visible through the mist. I had been dreaming about orbits, about the four places where elliptical orbits and circular orbits connect.
There is something I ought to have known about those connections.

I am paralyzed by touch, admitting that the brush of a hand could keep me breathless for weeks. I stay up late at night looking for meaning in it, manufacturing building blocks of glances to construct meaning.

Late last night on the bus I touched a piece of paper leaning against the window, turned it so that its words and my eyes were in line. It said, "everything is not what it seems."
I decided to believe it.

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