7.15.99

It is in those hours of dawn, sleeping, when disastrous details of the day before are softened and replaced with something more dull and vague. Until then, the images and voices haunt in dreams, or worse, in a darkened and silent world of wakefulness. It is those moments just before dawn when the epiphanies come, when the words and emotions are clarified in an order that elicits profound understanding. But it is the weight of sorrow and unmediated fatigue that prevents the body from rising to record those essential nuggets of wisdom; which is why, in the light of morning, the dull and vague throb endures without course for solution. ++ In the way I would write the story, the girl is disoriented in razor sharp sorrow, and blinded by a veil of tears. She does not sense the large truck riding invisible beside her, and she collides with her fate. It is predestined, of course, but by design appears coincidental and ironic. It would be made into a movie and the comparative literature students in film would discuss it alongside Girl on a Motorcycle.

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