7.16.00

What if I said that some threshold had been met and it was all for real now? Preparation enough and now no room to visualize a test: Do or die? No, do or don't get it done. I have flown the gym. Lately the core of me has been emptied by the places that pay me money. (A whore of the most pitiful kind, carved out and overworked; only the glue on her lids keeps her eyes open when she's lying down.) I find there is no time for original thought or any kind of thought beyond the realm of the self and the trade. Words have left me and too, any notion of what might be de rigueur conversation. As a result, I envision a globe of such youngsters that look something like myself who are vastly knowledgeable and adept in the craft of stimulating talk. But me, I resinate with seams from the mold and holes in the feet where the soul ran out. I can't figure my uniqueness, which is important. I'm riding my bike everywhere in cloudless days. I'm looking at apartments and feeling, overwhelmingly, nothing--nothing sparks my interest. No area of the city is ideal. There is, at each place, some trade-off I'm not willing to make. And so I wait for the one that jumps out. Until then I'm run ragged calling and seeing. And now ... and now; now the sleeping one must go and hunt for dreams.

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