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It's raining out. The clouds're so low the drops come down without a splash. The books on the shelves say nothing, though they do look, at least for the moment, like they might be listening. Such foolishness recording how rain falls, what objects appear to be doing. Suffice to say that it's raining and I don't feel like doing a thing. There must be some way to make money: paint window shades to look like Matisses, the fronts of refrigerators to look full, design bed sheets to look like watermelons . . .the top sheet in shades of green, the bottom lush red with black seeds. Ideas're free. I know I'm too far from the means and too lazy to file with the state. If you make it rich on any of these ideas, send me ten percent, restore my faith. I've nothing to say that I haven't heard listening to others let their thoughts go like electric impulses of matter moving our bodies around the planet. The radio plays. We dance. On this island, in this room three friends fix a state of mind letting fly thought up and down the staircase between today and yesterday. They're collecting evidence, bits of reasons for the ways so much gets lost. Rules which everyone flaunts remain on the books only because somebody forgot to take them off or because the status quo might need to evoke a precise point against some persona non grata. So many rules. It's funny anything gets done. Who doesn't carry someone who's died? Who doesn't wear a face shaped by loss? Who doesn't like some time to sleep late? Is there more than one God, or do we call the same God by different names? And if there're many Gods, who's the boss? How does one dominate the others, or is that the origin of pain? It's raining out. The clouds're so low the drops come down without a splash. The books on the shelves say nothing, though they do look, at least for the moment, like they might be listening. Such foolishness recording how rain falls, what objects appear to be doing. Suffice to say that it's raining and I don't feel like doing a thing. |
Page Updated: 6/12/00