She did not know where to put down her bag or herself. She had to lie down or remain standing, and in either case to keep shivering. She remained standing, her bag in her hand, staring at a kind of narrow window near the ceiling open onto the sky. She waited but without knowing why. She felt only her solitude and the penetrating cold, and a heavy weight around her heart. She was dreaming, really, almost deaf to the sounds rising from the street punctuated by bursts of Marcel’s voice, more aware of the murmur of a river coming from the window, a murmur raised by the wind in the palm trees, so close now, it seemed to her. Then the wind doubled in force, the gentle voice of the waters becoming the whistling of waves. She imagined behind the walls a sea of palm trees, straight and supple, tossing in the storm. Nothing was the way she imagined, but those invisible waves refreshed her tired eyes. She stood there, heavily, her arms hanging, a little bent, the cold climbing up her heavy legs. She was dreaming of the palm trees, straight and supple and of the young girl she had been.

-the adulterous wife

I mean I knew I was losing my mind but I didn’t think it’d be taking my appetite with it.

/12:33pm/ walk outside to call my Mom on my “lunch break” which doesn’t completely exist and only feigns doing so when nobody comes up to my desk. Feel an insant shot to my stomach that is both unnerving and familiar. I have yet to be able to name it but I can tell you the one thing it does is make me feel like I’m running out of time to say everything I need to, or maybe just to do something. Anything at all. Anything right then.

Last message sent at 3:43pm

I wake up at my desk at 4:11pm with blue ink all over my lips and fingertips and a cracked bic still held between my teeth. I don’t remember anything but I know that I saw. I  know that my eyes stared out that front door, watching cars go by. Watching cars go by without really seeing anything.

SO.

my embarrassing familiarity with the grey areas in regards to, oh, everything

“i am with Y O U dreamer
your red halo in the pillowpile
cottonskin
and all slow slow s l o w
b r e a t h
i am with you.
past tense,
of course.
in the shadow of a green couch
in the back room where we sat
laughing laughing eating
operating machinery
no thought
the glass floor somewhere shines round your legs firework bulbs
voices drown out
the bow breaks
the times comes
the time passes
we are alone, or
now, now we are
us,
what was that?
my god.

still i am with Y O U dreamer
perhaps i am the deer caught on the gate
fast fast fast horns antlers shake
woodcrack broken gate
burning passed me like ancient kharma
or fate
or dinner hungry miners the bell goes D I N G
& out comes the dirty faces
we were here
once
in the arms of the orange-fall-white-lights
& under glass
so with you, dreamer
i am,
that i sleep with my head in that direction still
of the bed
though it will not speak back
or breathe for you
is it a broken mold
cast once
for something new
that just got up & went
just like that
& then
then came spewing us, at least to me
came spewing that confetti of us
only missing
half of this
us
in new pieces”

via soisleptin