i like the smell of freshly cut lumber coming from the construction site on the way to/fro work...
i like wearing a jacket in the evenings in the middle of summer, and a sweater during the day...
i like it being overcast and foggy, and the other night a rare thunderstorm.

i am all emotion, solid and to the core. i sweat joy and shit tears.

it is strange to have so much new and so few to share it with...isolation...and i miss familiarity and those i love. i find myself telling almost complete strangers secrets, not able to pick up the phone (even on free weekends) to reach out to anyone who would actually care about, well, anything i have in earnest to say. there is also a deep-rooted fear to actually reach out to anyone here - a fear that they will find out who i am and dislike what they see. i am so pathetically fragile, i am...once cut one never really heals and i will always be in the corner.

i am out of my element, but then again, what element is comfortable? everything is a mask...everything cracks after a while, everything meets that bus in the evening on the deserted street.

my kitty had her eye cut out two days ago, a dead and unseeing eye, yes, but still a part of her beauty. before they sewed her shut, a rubber ball was installed...? can i love this new foreign adaptation? can she still feel ghost sensations of looking left to right? does she miss blinking?

i care more than she does, the little trooper, swollen and sewn she writhes around in my lap purring...leaps around the other cats in her own little world of bliss.

how can i not absolutely adore everything about her, ball and all?

it is dark here...soon to the airport and then end of the endless alone. one escapes from the skillet only to fall right into the fryer, so to say...or is it that every horse has a little buck, or perhaps no matter where you park the car, there is always a bird on the line.

*shrug*

i remember that the world revolves around the sun and that sometimes shit just happens...every day must have its night, just as everybody poops.

in the name of the bother the bart and the golden kanet,
ramen.